A Fresh Start
by embraidery
Summary: Paul Irving's adventures with love, mental health, and boarding school.
1. This Could Be Good

Anne leaned halfway out of the window, upper body braced against the frame. She trailed her fingers through the blossoms on the tree outside her window. Earlier that day, she'd handed in her final essay for the semester. She couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than to await Paul's visit in the company of one of her favorite trees. She leaned farther, going onto tip-toes, to bury her nose in the soft white blooms. The scentless flowers tickled her nose. She drew back and scratched the shapely organ.

"Anne!" called a familiar voice, and Anne waved joyously to her friend. He looked much taller and older, and his curly hair was beginning to grow out of control.

"I'll be right out, Paul!" She hurried down the long front hallway of her share house and opened the front door. "How have you been?" She pulled him into a hug.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it, Anne," he said, extricating himself from the hug and looking up at Anne. "Remember that a few months ago I finally finished my morning oatmeal? Well, Grandma started giving me more oatmeal, and it's been tough, but this morning I finished the whole thing." The corners of his mouth quirked up, and he joined Anne in laughter. It was so good to see him laugh. Sometimes he seemed so solemn.

"If you keep that up, you'll be taller than me by the end of the year," Anne said, ruffling Paul's hair and leading him inside. She and Paul stopped to take an appreciative whiff of the air. "You'll have to help me eat all the croissants I made! Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate?" She cooed at Rusty, perched on the counter, before moving him to the floor. She got out a saucepan and milk.

"Oh, Anne, you shouldn't have. I'm still full from all that oatmeal." Paul looked at the cookie sheets full of cooling croissants. "Never mind!" Anne slid a plate across the counter towards Paul, who caught it with one hand. He began piling croissants onto it. Anne snagged two mugs out of the cupboard overhead and poured milk into each. Paul sank his teeth into one of the croissants and groaned, eyes closed.

"Shh, don't tell your grandmother," she said, taking out half a bar of chocolate and breaking it into half. She dropped each half into one of the mugs of hot milk. "Here, stir this," she said, handing Paul a spoon. She laughed at the sight of Paul stirring the hot chocolate with a flaky croissant clamped between his teeth. "So, you finally finished your oatmeal. What else have you been up to?"

Paul set the croissant onto the plate and brushed the buttery crumbs off his hands. "Well, we took a field trip to the science museum and learned about space. Space is so _weird_ , Anne. And Grandma is considering getting a cat, but _only_ because of the mouse problem." He took a long sip of hot chocolate. "I played my last soccer game last week and this guy on the other team split my lip. Oh, and I wrote a poem that got published in a book of kids' poetry! Though I'm not a kid, am I, Anne?"

"No, you're not a kid," laughed Anne, remembering when she worried about the same thing. "That's wonderful, Paul! Your first piece in print! What was it about?" She folded the counter-wiping rag by the sink and sat down by Paul with her own plate of croissants. She thought back to her own first published piece, the advertisement for Rollings Reliable Baking Powder. How upset she'd been with Diana, though of course she never showed it.

"Good question," said Paul, frowning. "I'm not sure. I started writing something about space—this was after the museum—and it got away from me. Something like the web of the universe dipping and folding, and us swaying with the rhythm, our loves and lives all part of the cosmic dance..." He shook his head and took a big bite of croissant. Butter leaked out of the croissant and onto the corner of his dimpled mouth. He took the napkin Anne offered him and wiped away the butter.

"I have written many, many pieces that have gotten away from me, too. Though I don't think I've ever written about space. Maybe I should." Anne bit into her croissant and melted. "These turned out very well, don't you think?"

"Of course!" Paul said, grabbing his fourth croissant. "Oh, I almost forgot. Grandma gave me this note to give you." Paul dropped the croissant onto his plate. He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "It's instructions for this weekend."

Anne unfolded the sheet of legal paper. "She says tomorrow we're going to tour the high school at two, and Sunday we're supposed to go to church." She scanned the rest of the sheet. "She also leaves instructions about what we're supposed to eat." She set the note on the counter and turned to see if she had all the ingredients Mrs. Irving had requested. As she sorted through vegetables in the crisper, she commented, "I'm afraid we can't go to church."

"Mmph?" Paul asked, croissant crumbs raining down.

"This is such a small town that there isn't a Presbyterian church here," Anne said, shutting the fridge. She set a handful of potatoes on the cutting board and began to dice them. "I just enjoy the outdoors." She gazed out the window, her knife drooping from one hand. The hills, currently green, rolled down to the river at the bottom of the valley. She shook her head and returned to her potatoes. "Now come over here and peel some carrots for me." Paul finished his hot chocolate with a dramatic slurp and joined Anne at the cutting board. Anne dropped a kiss on his curly head and passed him the peeler.

Paul drifted to wakefulness as buttery sunlight poked him in the eyelids. He couldn't remember where he was. He opened his eyes to a room he knew couldn't be his grandmother's. While it was as neat and tidy as possible, the bookshelf in the corner held a collection Paul knew could only be Anne's. One shelf held feathers and delicate eggshells in blue, brown, and speckled white. A collection of pebbles, shells, and crystals held court on the next shelf down. The next shelf held pressed flowers and leaves. Paul sat up. He pulled the covers off his legs and swung his feet to the worn floorboards. He padded over and picked up a pink shell speckled with brown.

"Are you up?" called Anne's voice from behind the door. Paul jumped and caught the shell before it had fallen far, settling it back onto a puff of cotton wool on the shelf. He wiped his palms on his flannel pajama bottoms.

"I'm awake and decent!" Paul called back, folding the blankets into a neat stack. A couple of them looked like Mrs. Lynde's work. Paul guessed that Anne and her housemates had crocheted the others. He wished his blankets at home were this cool. He closed his eyes and sighed. He had caught himself being critical of his grandmother so often lately, and he didn't mean to complain. He shouldn't complain.

"Good morning," Anne chirped, taking the blankets from him and stowing them away. "Stella's making pancakes. You'll want to get some before Phil eats them all." She lowered her voice. "Her girlfriend Joan came back from Sweden yesterday. They stayed up until 3 celebrating. Phil has a bit of a hangover." Anne glanced at Paul's pajama pants. "I'll leave you to change!"

Paul laughed as he closed the door behind her. Good old Anne. She could make anyone feel at home right away. He swapped his sleeping shirt and flannel bottoms for a button down and khakis. Spitting his toothpaste into the sink, he gave his reflection the once-over. It would have been good to get a haircut, but it was too late now. Instead, he slicked some gel through his dark curls and smoothed a finger over each of his eyebrows. He wanted to make a good impression on this tour for his grandmother's sake.

He exited the bathroom, passing one of Anne's house mates, and hurried downstairs. One girl leaned against the counter prodding the pancakes with a spatula. Another lounged across two bar stools, sunglasses on and plate loaded. Anne was chopping peaches and humming a song from _The Beauty and the Beast_. The electric kettle in the corner whistled and belched steam.

"Good morning, Paul!" Anne smiled. She pointed to the girl manning the griddle. "That's Stella." Stella waved her spatula at Paul. "And that's Phil." She pointed to the one wearing sunglasses. "Everybody, this is Paul-"

"Oh, you used to tutor him, right?" Stella asked, flipping two golden pancakes onto a plate and passing it to Paul. Paul nodded and began scooping peaches onto his pancakes. Anne passed him a jug of cream.

"'Sup?" Phil asked. She flashed Paul a half-hearted peace sign as she shoveled another bite of pancakes into her mouth. Paul sat on the only bar stool she hadn't taken and tucked his feet under the bottom bar.

"She's not usually like that," Stella told Paul in a stage whisper. She poured batter onto the griddle in two perfect circles. "It's her hangover making her like this." She picked up her own plate and took a bite of pancake.

"Love you too, Stella," Phil mumbled, flipping her off. Paul watched Phil from under his generous fringe of lashes. He'd never been around hungover people before. He watched a glob of syrup make its way down her chin.

Stella waved her spatula at Phil. "Not in front of the child!"

"I'm not a child," Paul protested, setting down his fork. "I'm a _teenager_." Stella and Anne exchanged a glance and grinned. "I'm thirteen," Paul muttered, giving up and digging into his pancakes.

Stella flipped the last of the pancakes. She set her plate on the counter next to Paul's and shoved one of Phil's shoulders. "Come on, move, these are for everyone." Phil groaned and moved over so that she occupied only one chair. Anne pulled up a chair from the living room and joined everyone else at the kitchen island.

"What's the plan for today, Stella?" Anne asked, spearing a peach.

Stella did a little dance, drops of cream flying everywhere from her fork. Anne wiped some drops off her cheek. "Today I'm celebrating the end of semester! I'm going to drive into the city and do the touristy bit." She danced over to the stove, hips popping, to turn off the griddle.

"Are you also going to see Emma?" Anne insinuated, winking at Paul.

Stella, who'd been looking at Anne, went pink and turned her back on everyone. "Well, yes, she sort of invited herself along." Stella washed the bowl and measuring cups with utmost attention. Paul and Anne chuckled into their pancakes. "What are you and Paul doing today, then?" Stella asked. Anne glanced at Paul.

"We're touring a boarding school today," Paul said, stabbing his pancakes. "I might start going there in the fall." Anne set down her fork and leaned over to touch his arm. Paul leaned away from her hand. "It's fine, I don't mind either way about it." He chased a slice of peach around his plate before capturing it and popping it in his mouth whole.

"The tour isn't until two, so I thought we would drive around a bit first and see the countryside." Anne looked up at Priscilla's entrance. "Good morning, Pris! This is Paul, you've heard me talk about him, right?"

"Oh yes, I've heard lots of stories," Priscilla said, shaking Paul's hand. She made herself a plate of pancakes. "What brings you out here to the middle of nowhere?"

"We're touring a potential school this afternoon," Anne said. She watched Paul eat without pause. She got up to get herself another pancake and drizzled it with syrup. Pris nodded sagely, also watching Paul, and pulled up a chair for herself. Paul glared at them both from beneath his lashes. He hadn't realized his feelings about this new school were so obvious. He had thought he was a better liar than that, not that he lied often.

"What are you doing today, Pris?" asked Anne, and the girls discussed their plans. Paul got up and rinsed his dishes. The dishwasher had a little sign on it that said _clean dishes_ in Anne's practical cursive. He stacked his dishes in the bottom of the sink and reached to open the dishwasher.

Anne noticed and waved him off. "We'll do that later. We have to go if we want to see anything before two!" So she and Paul waved their goodbyes to the gang and bundled into Anne and Priscilla's old Bug. The car was loaded down with snacks, hiking boots, and reusable water bottles. Anne pointed out various attractions on a paper map. Paul chose a waterfall and a former one-room schoolhouse moonlighting as a museum. Anne popped Adele into the stereo and they were off. They sang along to the music, Paul singing dramatically into a water-bottle microphone. They pointed out horses and cows along the grassy country highway. Now and again Anne would launch into a story of her adventures in this meadow or along that crossroad. These stories enthralled Paul. Anne was fearless, and she seemed to have a million friends. He had friends, but he still sometimes felt lonely. He didn't have one best friend he could tell anything to. Anne had Pris and Stella and Phil and Gilbert and Diana.

"Here we are!" Anne said, driving down a little side road to a graveled parking lot. She jerked the gear into park. She reached over the seat to grab her hiking boots and the boots they'd borrowed from Stella's younger brother. She set her flats on the floor and laced up her boots. "Ready?" She looked over to see Paul's laces in a tangle. "Here, look, you loop the laces over the hooks, cross them, and loop them again. Then tie them." Paul held his hands up, relinquishing control, and Anne fixed the laces. They got out of the car and stood for a second in the radiant warming light. It graced the leaves on the nearby flowering trees, turning them to peridot and emerald, and glittered off the river far below. Anne and Paul gripped the railing at the edge of the ravine. Below them, rocks perched precariously above the frothing water. Scraggly trees clung to handfuls of dirt between the rocks.

The pair ambled down the path to the waterfall, exclaiming all the way. Paul thought he could feel a poem coming on. "This looks like a postcard," he said. He looked over the edge of the pathway at the thickets of green vegetation on the other side of the ravine. "It looks like where elves would come to do their washing, just down there on that big flat rock. And if you listen you can hear the rocks and the water having a conversation."

Anne's eyes shone. "I daresay they're talking about how beautiful it is today. I bet they feel like their souls could soar away and join the clouds. That's how I feel right now." She paused in the middle of the path and spun in circles, arms thrown out to either side. "I think my soul is most like a tree or a flower, but sometimes I'm more like a rock. Grounded in the earth, soaking up the sunshine and holding it within me even when the sun has gone down for the day." They skipped down the path together, dancing around the rocks and tree roots jutting up from the earth, laughing when they almost tripped, grabbing hands for an instant when they did trip, waving their arms in the air to enjoy the breeze.

When they got to the overlook, both sat on the edge of the platform and dangled their legs between the bars. Paul exulted in the feeling of spray across his legs. He leaned back, closing his eyes, soaking it all in. Anne pressed her face to the bars and watched the rainbows caught in the droplets. They watched clouds drift by and spun yarns about what lived in the caves behind the waterfall. Eventually, Paul let Anne pull him up, and they walked back to the car. They kept a careful eye out for birds and animals along the path. Once there, Anne checked her watch and gasped. "We'll have to do the schoolhouse tomorrow. If we don't hurry, we'll be late!" They leapt into the car. Paul swapped back into his loafers while Anne threw the car into reverse and left the lot. He munched on a granola bar, careful to catch any crumbs in a napkin. Anne held her hand out. Paul dropped a granola bar into her hand.

"Do you want to put on a CD?" Anne asked, checking over her shoulder as she merged onto the highway. She unwrapped the granola bar with one hand and took a careful bite, laughing as oats rained down on her lap. Paul flipped through the CDs stacked in the glove compartment and settled on Hozier. This time, instead of singing, he stared out the window. Anne snuck glances at him from time to time. Paul was struck by how lovely her voice was as she sang along to Hozier under her breath. As far as he knew, she hadn't sung in public much. She'd read poetry at various events, though, and she'd done debate for a while. Debate reminded him of the issue at hand: high school. He didn't want to go to this school. True, he'd be closer to Anne. He could see himself spending every weekend at the cozy share house, eating delicious breakfasts and writing poetry. But he had a few friends at home he wouldn't want to leave. He wasn't good at social media, so his friendships relied on shared soccer games, jokes, and the like. They wouldn't survive in the same way.

On the other hand, who knew what he could build here? Avonlea was a bit of a dead end romance-wise. There weren't many boys who liked boys on the island, at least not ones that made it public knowledge. This school was near a big city. He could make friends, maybe more. He looked away from the window and took an apple out of the massive picnic basket Anne had packed that morning.

"Ready?" Anne asked, smiling over at him, looking as though she knew exactly what was going through his head. He supposed she might. After all, she'd gone to boarding school, too. That was where she'd met the gang. And now she was away from home for university, though now that she was an adult, that was something she'd have to get used to.

"Ready." Paul accepted her fist bump and shook his head. "That's really nerdy coming from you, Anne."

"Isn't that my job? To be your nerdy former tutor that studies books from hundreds of years ago and offers awkward fist bumps?" Anne grinned at him and turned off the highway. "We're almost here."

The school was a gorgeous old building set in rolling lawns, with a garden peeking out from behind it and various sporting courts dotted off in the distance. It looked exactly like a postcard.

"Is this real?" Paul asked, turning to Anne.

She locked the car and put her hands on her hips. "I think so. It's beautiful, isn't it? Cordelia would love to live here..."

"Who's Cordelia?" Paul asked.

Anne shook her head absently. "Oh, someone I knew when I was little. Let's go, we only have a few minutes!" She nudged Paul until he fell in step beside her. He grabbed her hand as they mounted the steps, so she stopped and turned to him. "It's hard to make new friends, but you can do it, Paul! You're so good at poetry and soccer and you'll have a wonderful time here. It's a great school. You can learn all about space, or Greek mythology, or art, and you'll be inspired, you'll see!" She waited until he nodded and gave him a hug. He opened the massive front doors, and she followed.

Paul couldn't help being impressed. The school had great facilities for just about everything. They even had an astronomy department. The school was located far from the nearest city, so there was hardly any light pollution. He took a peek through the telescope and was stunned to see a shooting star. Anne, of course, was taken with the school's rare book collection. Paul gasped over that too, though he tried not to let it show. The principal finished off the tour by showing them their other gardens, the centerpiece of which was a gorgeous fountain. The sun came out from behind the clouds and flashed rainbows at the visitors.

"It's a sign," Anne and Paul whispered to each other, and laughed.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

They stuck around after the tour, soaking up the school's atmosphere at one of the tiny cafes. Paul ordered a chocolate milkshake ("only because Grandmother would never let me at home!") and Anne, laughing, ordered the same. They watched the students stream by them. One student in particular caught Paul's eye. He was also Latino, though with a much darker complexion than Paul.

Anne raised her eyebrows and followed Paul's gaze before he flicked his eyes away, blushing. "Say hello!" she urged.

"Oh, I couldn't, Anne!" Paul said in agony, hiding behind his milkshake.

Anne sighed when she saw his expression and shrugged. "Your choice."

Surprised that Anne wouldn't push him to talk to the stranger, Paul sat up straighter and looked at the guy out of the corner of his eye. He was just on the other side of the cafe, tossing a hacky sack with some friends, watching to make sure the girl at the counter couldn't see. Then milkshake splattered all over their table. Anne and Paul both shrieked when the cold milkshake hit their skin.

Hacky Sack Boy jogged over to their table. "I'm so, so sorry!" he exclaimed, grabbing napkins from the next table and trying to mop up the milkshake all over the table. "Can I-?"

Paul nodded, and the mysterious boy dabbed at his shirt with the napkins. Anne smirked at Paul over Hacky Sack Boy's shoulders, and Paul glared back. If he hadn't known it was impossible, he'd swear Anne had cooked up a scheme for the boys to toss the Hacky Sack with a little too much force.

"Again, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm Mat. Mateo." He ran a hand through his dark curls. "Are you thinking of going here?"

"I'm Paul," Paul said, smiling. "Yeah, next fall maybe. Do you like it here?"

"It's awesome." Mateo grinned in response. "We have a sick soccer team."

"I love soccer!"

"Yeah? I'm the captain! Come meet the boys!"

Anne smiled at Paul, so he went off with Mateo. She wiped up the rest of the milkshake and leaned her chin in her hands, watching Paul and his new friends. When he came back to her table, half an hour later, Paul's smile could have lit up the room.

"Good?" Anne asked.

"Better than good!"

"Well, we don't have to leave yet," Anne said. "I'll be in the rare books room if you need me." Paul grinned and rejoined the soccer team.

"I think Mateo was flirting with me," Paul confided on the ride home.

"What was he doing?"

"I don't know, he just touched my shoulders and arms a lot. And he smiled a lot. He has a nice smile." Paul swallowed down his own smile and looked solemnly out the window.

"That sounds like a good sign," Anne said, trying not to laugh. "So what did you think of the school?"

"I think I could go here," said Paul. "The telescope was cool."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" Anne said. "It'll be nice to see you more often."

"I'll never leave your house," Paul grinned. "Except when I have soccer practice."

"Perfect." The pair grinned at each other, and Anne offered another fist bump.

"That's still really nerdy, Anne," Paul sighed, returning the gesture.

"I'll take it."


	2. Hesitation

**A/N: Originally this was meant to be a one-shot, but thanks to the lovely reviewers who boosted my confidence by requesting more: here you go! Special thanks to elizasky for taking a peek at my next chapter and asking good questions.**

 **Note: to the one reviewer who mentioned it, Gilbert is not going to be in this story. This is a story built on my neverending love for Paul Irving.**

Paul was standing in front of a dressing room mirror, but he didn't recognize the young man on the other side. He had Paul's dark curls and eyes, but he wore sharply-creased khakis, a white button-down, a navy blazer, and a maroon tie. He was clearly the sort of guy who could handle going to a postcard-perfect school and wearing a tie all day. Paul wasn't sure he was that kind of guy yet. As much as he was looking forward to going to the new school, making friends with the soccer team, and taking advantage of the planetarium, he hated the idea of having to be the new kid. He gulped and looked down at the shiny new shoes.

"Paul?" Anne called from outside the changing room.

"Coming, Anne," he called back. He took a deep breath and swung open the stall door.

Anne brought both hands to her heart (a characteristic pose for the redhead) and sighed happily. "Oh, Paul, you look so grown up!"

Paul shuffled his feet on the gray carpet.

"I hope you know you can tell me how you're feeling about this," Anne murmured, leaning toward Paul. He steadfastly looked away from her. It was hard not to cry when faced with Anne's excessive gentleness. "Well, let's go get your school supplies."

She and Paul were in the big city, hours away from the school, getting their shopping done and sightseeing. They'd been to a few museums the day before and seen a feature on sharks at the IMAX. The next day, they grabbed lunch at a cute restaurant before diving into school shopping. Anne breezed into a little stationery store, Paul following close behind. They picked out a handful of sleek notebooks, a box of #2 pencils, and dark blue ballpoints for Paul's classes. Then Anne bought him a leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen as an early Christmas present. After they left the store, Paul found a bench and sat down with his purchases. He took a second to smell the fresh pencils and notebook pages.

"That's my favorite part of buying school supplies, too," Anne confided. "And the possibilities of the blank page. Just imagine what you might write! Do you need anything for your dorm room?"

Paul didn't think so. He wasn't the type to have a fridge in his room. He'd already met his roommate, Andrew, and he'd offered to let Paul use a corner of his mini fridge for special occasions. Paul already had all his clothes, books, and soccer supplies.

"Well then, let's go home!" Anne said, ruffling Paul's hair. She filled the drive home with an endless stream of cheerful chatter, but stopped when even her silliest jokes didn't elicit a reaction from Paul. They were greeted by almost perfect silence when they pulled into Anne's driveway. Only crickets broke the tranquility of the summer evening.

"Look, fireflies!" Anne said, pointing them out. Even though she'd seen fireflies many times during her stint in America, they were uncommon in Avonlea, so she still reveled in their presence. She hopped out of the car and watched the fireflies dance around her yard. "Do you think they're lanterns for fairies?" she asked Paul. She could see doubt and irritation flash across his face, but then he, too, climbed out of the car and stood admiring.

"Maybe fireflies _are_ fairies," he told her, catching one in the globe of his hands and peeking between his fingers to look at it. "Why should fairies have to look like humans?"

"You're very right!" Anne declared. "Are butterflies fairies, too?"

"Well, they love flowers, don't they?" Paul said, releasing the firefly and tracking it across the sky.

Anne lowered herself to the porch steps and kicked off her sandals. "That they do." She smiled up at the sky. "And I think the flowers love them, too."

"It probably tickles the flowers when the butterflies land on them," Paul said, getting caught up in the story. "What do you think a flower's laugh sounds like, Anne?"

"That's a good question. I think it would sound like crickets, but prettier," she decided. She ran her feet through the soft grass by the porch. "Do you think the different flowers have different laughs?"

Paul flopped onto the grass by Anne's feet. "The really small flowers like baby's breath would have high laughs, and big flowers would have deeper laughs!" He laughed himself. Anne thought he had the sort of laugh that would make the flowers jealous.

They sat outside together, spinning yarns about the flowers, until the last traces of purple and pink vanished below the horizon. Inside, the house was cozy in a way Paul had rarely felt, even at Miss Lavendar's. Frank Sinatra warbled from the radio. Stella painted her nails while chatting to Priscilla, who was in the middle of crocheting another blanket. Phil and Joan were giggling over a bottle of red wine and a box of truffles. Joan tried to feed Phil a truffle, leaving a smear of chocolate across her nose.

"Oh, get a room, you two," Stella called good-naturedly.

"Never!" called Phil, who leaned forward and planted a sloppy kiss on Joan. Paul gazed at them, a big balloon expanding in his heart. He shoved thoughts of Mateo to one side.

"What's for dinner, Anne?" he asked.

"Pris, did you girls have dinner already?"

"We all had spaghetti and garlic bread, leftovers in the kitchen," she answered, gesturing with her crochet hook. "And the red is for all of us, if you can get it away from the lovebirds." Phil clutched the bottle of wine to her chest.

Anne laughed. "Don't worry, you can keep the wine." She and Paul headed for the kitchen and piled leftovers onto earthenware plates.

"Where did you get these plates, Anne?"

"Oh, we got most of them at the farmer's market," Anne said. "They have so many beautiful things there. Ceramics and jewelry and gorgeous wood bowls. If I weren't planning to do other things, I might want to make that sort of thing for a living."

"Really?" Paul thought Anne was very creative, but he had a hard time imagining her with pliers or wood-carving tools.

Anne twirled some spaghetti on her fork. "No, I don't think so," she decided. "Jewelry and bowls are beautiful, of course, but writing can make a difference in people's lives. That's what I want to do most of all."

"You already have, Anne," Paul avowed.

Anne smiled. "Thank you, Paul!" She knew, of course, that she helped her students do better in school. But it was always nice to hear that she'd helped her students from their own mouths. She also knew that Paul meant she'd helped in more ways than just improving his grades.

The next day, they had to go to the school to get Paul enrolled. Miss Lavendar, Stephen Irving, and Paul's grandmother came from their hotel to pick Paul up bright and early. Mateo pulled Paul into the group of soccer boys right away. They chattered like a flock of birds, telling Paul which classes he should sign up for and which teachers to avoid. Paul's shoulders relaxed. He found himself laughing along at the boys' jokes and joining in the banter.

The first step was to choose his classes. One of the boys, Jesse, took over to help him with that. Paul didn't have much choice. After he'd added geometry, biology, English, and world history to his schedule, he had to choose a language class. He didn't hesitate before ticking "Spanish." It was his little mother who had been Latina, and he remembered hardly any of the Spanish she'd used with him. His father had learned some Spanish, but he abandoned it after his wife's death.

Then Paul could choose two electives. The school had a dizzying array of classes, including fine arts, music, and specialized courses in required subjects. He made a mental note to take the poetry classes in later years before ticking "creative writing" and "orchestra." Paul thought he'd like to try playing a woodwind. He'd taken piano lessons for years, of course, at his grandmother's behest, but he never felt at home dwarfed by her grand piano. After registration, it was time to put his school supplies in his locker. His locker was next to the locker of a soccer boy named Tim. Tim's locker was already messy and smelled of Axe. Paul could see a photo of a tall African-American girl taped to the inside of the door.

"That's Angela," Tim said proudly. He looked at Paul's locker. The inside of the door now bore photos of his old soccer team, his parents, Miss Lavendar, and Anne. "No girlfriend? Or is the ginger your girlfriend? She's a bit old for you!" Tim said.

Paul's gaze skittered away from Tim and happened to land on Mateo, who was leaning on a nearby locker. "I don't have a girlfriend," he said, putting the last of his notebooks in the bottom of his locker and closing the door.

"Boyfriend?" Mateo asked, not looking up from his phone. Paul noticed that his eyes didn't move across the screen.

"No."

"We'll help you find a girl!" Tim said, slapping Paul on the back. "D'you wanna play some ball?"

Paul nodded gratefully and set off with the team to play a pickup game out behind the school. He had the vague idea that the adults were talking to the teachers and principal, doing whatever it is adults have to do, and he was glad to leave it to them. All his worries were forgotten once he got his hands (er, feet) on the ball. Wind rushed by his ears and the smell of grass clippings filled his nose. All he could see was the goal at the far end and all he could hear was his own breath. _In, out. Dribble, feint, dribble._ Jesse rushed in. Paul half-kicked the ball behind his feet to protect it, but Jesse had anticipated it. He darted behind Paul, who passed the ball to Mateo just in time to save it. The opposing defenders rushed to Mateo, but he kicked a daring goal before they got to him. The ball just slipped by the goalie's fingers and swooshed into the net. Everyone on Paul's team drummed their hands on their thighs and yelled, "HEY!" Mateo grinned at Paul from across the field and gave him a double thumbs up. Paul returned the gesture before jogging to the side of their playing field to get some water. He was feeling a little out of practice.

After the game, Paul met his family and helped them move everything into his room. He would have to decorate the walls with his extensive collection of polaroids and drawings later. For now, he had a bed made with blue sheets and duvet, a wardrobe stocked with his uniforms and casual clothes, and a desk covered in notebooks and other supplies. Miss Lavendar suggested going out for dinner, so Mrs. Irving, Anne, and Miss Lavendar trickled out, leaving Paul and his dad alone.

"Hey, kiddo," Mr. Irving said, sitting on the bed. Paul crawled up next to him and let his dad loop his arm around his shoulder. "I can't believe you're in high school now. How are you feeling?"

Paul took a moment to think. "I really am excited, Dad. This school looks really cool and I'm making friends. But...it's a big change."

Mr. Irving nodded and rubbed Paul's back. Paul breathed in time with his dad's heartbeat. His dad always seemed so strong, and never more so than when he held Paul. "I know it's tough. But we're just a phone call away, at any time of the day or night, and you've got Anne nearby. And I think you'll get adjusted pretty quickly."

Paul sighed at the platitudes. "It just isn't the same."

"I know." Mr. Irving kissed the top of Paul's head. "I know." They stayed like that for a few minutes before going down to join the others.

That night, Paul knew he should try to get some sleep. He took a warm shower, got into clean pajamas, and read his favorite book for a while before flicking off the lights. The flowery smell of his shampoo floated around his head, making him smile. He lay spread-eagled on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He could practically see his thoughts swirling around his head like the stars in old cartoons, the kind that appear when a character gets hurt. He pulled the covers up to his chin and curled into a ball.


	3. Best Days

A/N: I'm sorry about the slightly wacky formatting. Maybe I won't use Google Docs after this chapter...(and the next chapter is already written, by the way!)

The first day of school, it turned out, was much easier than Paul had been expecting. Since he was nervous about the new school, he'd forgotten that the first day isn't too bad, especially for someone armed with a ready-made group of friends. He ate waffles smeared with Nutella in the cafeteria. He'd carefully packed his backpack with two of everything last night, just in case, and wearing it felt like wearing armor.

The syllabus and basic music knowledge part of band took far too long. Paul was itching to get his fingers on an instrument. Finally, just before class was over, they were allowed to look through the instrument storage room to choose an instrument. Paul carefully looked at all the different instruments before settling on a clarinet. He wanted to play a bassoon eventually, and maybe a saxophone, but a clarinet seemed much less intimidating. The teacher had the experienced players show the newer kids how to put together their instruments. Paul was partnered with a boy named Trevor, who wore a NASA shirt and colorful barrettes in his afro.

Trevor tapped his hearing aids. "You'll have to talk kinda loudly, since there are so many people around."

Paul nodded. "Okay. So where do we start?" He looked down at the clarinet nestled in its blue-lined box. It was almost too beautiful to touch.

Trevor picked up the different pieces and explained what they did. There was the bell, at the bottom; the two parts of the body; the mouthpiece; and the barrel joint, which connected the mouthpiece to the rest of the clarinet. "These make the clarinet play in different keys," Trevor said, tapping the two barrel joints in the box. "We usually play in B flat. That's this one." Then he picked up the mouthpiece, with its little metal cage. "This metal part is the ligature. It holds the reed onto the clarinet. You'll probably go through a reed or two a month." Trevor put together the clarinet and took it apart again. "Here, try it!"

Paul reverently picked up the clarinet pieces and put them together, making sure the keys were perfectly lined up. He held the clarinet up and looked at it in the natural light streaming into the room. "It's beautiful."

Trevor laughed. "Just wait 'til you hear the awful noises you'll make!"

Paul chuckled and put the clarinet pieces back in the box. "It'll totally be worth it when I learn how to play well."

"If you do," said Trevor, smirking.

After class, Trevor and Paul compared schedules. They walked to their English class together. Unlike the band teacher, the English teacher decided to jump right into the lesson plan.

"Is there anyone who isn't comfortable acting in front of the class? Okay. Who would like to be Romeo? Juliet? Remember, in Shakespeare's time, men played all the parts. They even played women pretending to be men, in Twelfth Night and As You Like It." One of the class clowns, Matt, took the role of Romeo. His best friend Connor raised his hand for Juliet. Paul raised his hand for Mercutio. No one else did. Maybe Paul was the only one who had read _Romeo and Juliet_ and knew that Mercutio was a good role. Mateo volunteered to be Benvolio. After everyone had been cast, the teacher brought out a big box of costumes. They weren't all period-appropriate for Shakespeare. Giggles ensued as Connor put on a Marilyn Monroe wig and a spandex unitard that was clearly from an '80s workout video. Matt opted for a hat with a fake ostrich feather. Paul chose a white shirt with billowing sleeves and a rubber sword; Mateo took the other sword and outfitted himself in an embroidered matador jacket.

"Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!" Mateo-as-Benvolio lamented.

"Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity!" Matt-as-Romeo moaned, sinking to the ground and beating his chest. Paul hid his grin behind his hand, not wanting to break character, as his classmates laughed.

"Dost thou not laugh?" Romeo said, glaring at the audience, and they laughed harder.

"No, coz, I rather weep," said Benvolio sarcastically, tracing a tear track down his cheek. The boys left that class laughing and punching each other. Paul's grin went from ear to ear. _This is going to be the best year ever!_

Mateo nudged Paul. "Do you wanna go off campus for lunch?"

"Are we allowed?" was Paul's first question, quickly followed by, "I didn't think there was a town for miles around."

Mateo laughed. "They won't notice. There's only the little diner in the town on the other side of the highway, but it's nice to get away."

Another problem occurred to Paul. "You can't drive...can you?"

"My sister will drive us. She's just here for a few days." Mateo dashed off a text to his sister. "She says she's out front."

Paul's reservations about leaving when they weren't technically allowed melted away in the late-summer sun as they left the school. He felt like a sunflower, soaking up as much golden sunlight as he could, as he followed Mateo to his sister's old station wagon. It was covered in bumper stickers that said things like COEXIST and I LOVE MY WIFE. Mateo's sister waved at them from her perch on the hood of the car as they approached.

"Paul, this is Alona. Alona, this is my friend Paul."

Alona smiled at Paul. "Hi! Nice to meet you! Do you feel like burgers?"

Paul just stared. Alona was bursting with personality. Her hair was curlier than Mateo's and threatened to escape from her colorful bandanna. Her clothes were just as brightly colored. Though she was very short, her long skirt made her look taller.

The woman in the passenger seat laughed at Paul's response. "She's a lot, I know."

Paul jumped slightly. "Oh, hello!"

Mateo laughed. "This is Alona's wife Vanessa." Vanessa winked at Paul. "Let's get going!"

Alona wrestled Mateo into a hug as he got into the back seat. Mateo grinned and reached up to tug her curls. Paul clambered in next to Mateo and they were off, gravel crunching beneath their wheels.

"So how was your first day?" Vanessa asked, twisting around to look at the boys.

"Good!" Mateo said. "I was Benvolio, and the costumes were _so cool_!"

Paul grinned. "Juliet looked like a lady from an '80s workout video."

"It was so good," Mateo agreed. "That might be my favorite class. Math was good but the teacher is super boring."

Vanessa nodded sagely. "Has there ever been an interesting math teacher?"

After lunch, Paul headed to creative writing. He was surprised to find that the classroom was littered with bean bags instead of the standard-issue writing desks in the other classrooms. Cans of colored pencils, paint brushes, and googly eyes were lined up on the windowsills next to a stack of composition notebooks. His teacher, a youngish woman wearing a sundress, sat on a bean bag at the front of the room.

"Welcome, boys-and girl?" She directed that last at a girl sitting on the bean bag nearest her, frizzy red hair tied in two braids down her back. The girl nodded.

"Excellent! Welcome to Creative Writing. I'm Miss Adams. You'll see we don't have desks here. If you would be more comfortable in a desk, I can get one, but I like bean bags because they tend to help students relax." She smiled around at them. "I want to foster your creativity here. Creativity first and writing second, that's my mantra; and grades last." A few boys chuckled at that. "So today I think we will introduce ourselves and play some games!"

"He's Tiptop Thomas, he's Ardent Andrew, and I'm Galloping Gracie," Gracie said, partway into the game. Paul came a few people later in the order.

"Tiptop Thomas, Ardent Andrew, Galloping Gracie, Silly Seamus, Jealous Julian, Leaping Lachlan. I'm...Prince Paul," Paul said, smiling.

"Tiptop Thomas, Ardent Andrew…" began the boy next to him.

After they'd introduced themselves, they played improv games. Each person was assigned an animal noise to make. With their eyes closed, they had to find the person with the same animal noise. Paul looked down at his slip to see the word _cat_ written in a tidy script. He closed his eyes and the game began.

"Meow! Meow!" he said hesitantly, amidst the roar of other students making their noises.

"Woof!"

"Cock-a-doodle-doooo!"

"Meow!"

Paul began to move towards the other 'cat.' "Meow! Meow! Meow?" he said.

"Meow!"

Paul felt a hand touch his wrist. He opened his eyes to see Gracie.

"Hi!" she said. "Er, meow!"

"Meow!" Paul said back, grinning. He sat next to Gracie for the next game, an elaborate one involving shoelaces, balloons, and espionage. _Even if I hate every other class, this is enough_ , he thought to himself. _This is enough._

The next few weeks were some of the best of Paul's life. He was occupied with soccer practice, ASL lessons from Trevor, visits to Anne's, and homework. His afternoons, filled with friends and learning, seemed to fly by.

One Friday night he and Gracie went out to the football field to stargaze. It was a surprisingly warm night for September; Paul only needed to wear a hand-me-down jumper from Gilbert to feel cozy. Gracie brought a box of pop tarts her sister had brought on her last visit, and Paul supplied some of Anne's croissants.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Gracie asked, nibbling her pop tart.

Paul nodded, feeling the picnic blanket crumple under his head. "Stars are my favourite."

"I always wanted to live on my own little planet like in The Little Prince," Gracie said. "I'd fill it with kittens...and a waterfall...and…" She screwed up her eyes and tapped her pop tart against her mouth. "What else does a planet need?"

"Food?" Paul suggested through a bite of croissant. He set the rest of his pastry on his chest. "I think my planet would have a silvery lake and we could go fishing for wishes."

"What would you wish for?"

"I would wish…" Paul took another bite of croissant to give himself time to think. "I would wish that I could live with Father and Miss Lavendar, and my friends could visit all the time, and I would wish for a really good telescope."

Gracie laughed. "Your magic lake isn't a genie, silly. You can have more than three wishes."

" _I_ wouldn't be greedy," Paul said loftily, and laughed as Gracie smacked his shoulder. "What would you wish for?"

Gracie ripped open another bag of pop tarts. "I would wish for Mom and Mumma to live together again." She tore off a chunk of pastry with her teeth. "Other than that, I don't know. I could get a kitten, I guess, but we're not allowed pets here…"

"You could wish for a way to hide the kitten when teachers come around," Paul said.

Gracie dropped her pop tart and grinned. "Is that Rule-Abiding Paul telling me to break the rules?"

"Maybe," Paul smiled, shrugging against the blanket.

Trevor reached out and tapped Paul's foot to get his attention. "Would you want to be an astronaut someday?" Paul's science textbook was open in front of him.

"What's that sign?" Paul frowned and tried it. "Astro-?" In the context, he thought it could be a career, but it didn't look like many of the signs he knew for careers, which ended with parallel hands.

"A-S-T-R-O-N-A-U-T," Trevor finger-spelled. "Astronaut."

"Astronaut," Paul repeated, "astronaut." He tried to commit the sign to memory. "Anyway, I don't think I would like to be an astronaut. Would you?" He set down his homework in order to concentrate on their conversation.

"I don't know. Sounds like a lot of work."

"So are other jobs." Paul shrugged. "At least being an astronaut would be interesting!" He strung together the signs slowly, still unsure of ASL grammar.

"Then why don't you want to be one?"

Paul propped his chin in one hand, thinking. He plotted out what he wanted to say before sitting up straight and signing with both hands. "I want to write and create new worlds for people. Or maybe I could write about space or something! I'd love to…" Here he paused, unsure of how to communicate this in ASL. "I was so excited to learn about space as a kid, and I'd like to help other kids discover space, too. I don't have to _go_ to space."

"You and your writing!" Trevor exaggerated the signs and smiled at Paul, shaking his head.

"I know," Paul said, half-smiling. Trevor set Paul's science textbook to one side and peered upside-down at Paul's notebook. There was a little doodle of a familiar curly-haired boy in one corner.

"Is that Mateo?" Trevor waggled his eyebrows and his hands as he signed Mateo's name. Paul leaned over to shove Trevor off the bed.

"I'm joking, I'm joking!" Trevor grinned. The sign was sloppy, his fists not touching as he clambered back onto the bed.

"What about Josh?" Paul made the swirl of the J extra dramatic.

"Apparently he's straight." Trevor made a face.

"Bad luck," said Paul, patting Trevor's arm. Trevor flipped him the bird, and Paul laughed. He remembered the first time one of his friends had flipped him off. He knew they were being friendly, but he'd thought about it all night, with a little shiver going down his back. It was only one of many things that changed quickly at boarding school. Some were good, Paul thought. Others he certainly wouldn't tell his grandmother about when she called, although he was learning that just because she wouldn't approve didn't mean a thing was evil.


	4. Falling Asleep

Someone had carved a squiggly smiley face deep into the wood of the desk. Paul's fingers traced over it again and again, the words of the teacher buzzing ineffectually against his ears like bees in a glass jar. His eyelids drifted closer and closer together, interrupted by him shaking his head slightly to wake up, then drifting once again. He couldn't muster the energy to sit up straight.

"Psst," said the boy next to him, passing him a note. Paul slowly raised his head to look at his neighbor Andrew. He jerked his head towards Mateo, who was sitting at the other end of the row. Mateo raised his eyebrows at Paul. Paul blinked rapidly before raising his eyebrows back and unfolding the note.

 _wake up sleepyhead. smith's essay getting you down?_

Paul grabbed his pen and hunched over the note. _I was writing it until 2 last night! I just want her to like me._ He gave the note to Andrew and watched it wend its way across the room to Mateo. Mateo snorted as he read the note and scribbled his response.

 _she doesn't like anybody. you don't have to try that hard._

 _I know, but..._ Paul tapped his pen on the paper. _I can't help it, I need teachers to like me!_

 _you're such a goody two shoes. :)_ Mateo grinned at Paul as he read the note. _catch you after class? i think czerny can tell we're passing notes_

Paul shot Mateo a thumbs-up before turning back to the front. Within minutes, Mr. Czerny's buzzing-bee voice and the syrupy autumn sunlight made Paul want to drift off. He sat up straight in his chair and pinched his inner arm. Ten minutes left in class. Paul imagined Mateo loping over to him as the bell rang, backpack looped over one shoulder, all the sunlight in the room following him and setting his curly hair ablaze. He'd tap Paul on the shoulder and crack a joke as they walked down to lunch, and Paul would feel alive down to the tips of his fingers… He shook himself out of the daydream and frowned down at the smiley face on his desk. Feel alive? He thought back over the past few weeks. It was true, he'd been feeling a little…foggy. Nothing he couldn't handle, though. There was still soccer and astronomy and music and Mateo and his other friends. Maybe he'd go see Anne this weekend. Fun as Mateo was, spending time with him was nothing like spending time with a "kindred spirit."

Before joining the soccer team at their usual lunch table, Paul went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He scrubbed his face with a paper towel and stared himself down in the mirror. He was fine. Just tired. He'd been staying up late more nights than not recently, finishing homework. There was so much more than at his old school. He didn't really mind, because most of it was interesting, but it did take effort. Of course! It was high school! And that came with so many interesting opportunities, especially now that he was living away from his grandmother. Two weeks ago he'd seen Twelfth Night with Anne. Paul shook his head and raked a hand through his curls. He sat on the edge of the bench and swung each of his legs over, putting his backpack between his feet.

Mateo clapped Paul on the back and nudged his shoulder. "We're talking about the game on Friday. Looking forward to it?"

Paul rubbed small circles on his jeans with his thumb, distracting himself from the tingly warm handprint on his back. "Yeah, 'course! If I get more sleep tomorrow night and Thursday, it should be really good! I practiced my dribbles over the weekend, outside of practice."

"I practiced this weekend too!" said Tim. "I found this sweet park with soccer goals pretty close to my house. No idea how I didn't see it before. Do you guys wanna have a game on Saturday just for fun?"

"Yeah!" said the others, Paul chiming in. He was happy to play on the team, but it felt even better just to play soccer for the heck of it. The conversation flowed on from soccer. Paul was mostly content to watch and listen. Though he was more energized now than he had been in class, all he really wanted to do was dig into the lasagna. The school food was usually fine, but the lasagna was amazing. He almost choked on melty gooey cheese as he ate, going faster than he usually did. He wouldn't have enjoyed himself to such excess if he knew that the lasagna would give him food poisoning.

It didn't hit until after classes were over for the day, luckily, but as soon as Paul headed to soccer practice he doubled over with a stomach ache. The coach noticed and told him to go rest. Paul went up to his room and collapsed on his bed. Familiar old stars, familiar bookcase full of books he hadn't even opened, familiar clutter…he took a painkiller, tucked himself into bed, and tried to sleep. But his head spun with headache and thoughts of Mateo. Eventually he fell into a light sleep populated with half-dreams. He was a sort of Sisyphus, grinding forever under the weight of a soccer ball. He was in hot pursuit of the shadowy figure he was running away from. He woke up to the sound of his text ringtone. He shook the sleep out of his eyes and considered this. It could be any of the soccer boys checking in on him, or Anne. His father, grandmother, and stepmother would call instead of text. He reached one arm out of the blankets, moving despite the ache, and brought the phone close to his face. He couldn't stop his heart from leaping when he saw the name on the screen. Paul unlocked his phone.

 _how are you doing? should i come by? i have my abuelita's tamales_

Paul thought before typing back, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

 _That's okay. I wouldn't want you to get sick._

 _food poisoning isn't contagious! i'll be by in 5?_

 _Okay._

Paul tried to sit up, but he still felt achy, so he just looked at himself with his front camera to make sure he looked okay. He didn't look even close to his best, but there wasn't much he could do about it in bed. He pinched his cheeks, hoping to add color, and gently slapped his face to wake himself up. Then he felt silly. Mateo was coming over because Paul was sick. It was pretty far from a date, as far as Paul knew, and he didn't know much about dates. He settled back into his blankets until he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in!" he called, thanking his lucky stars he hadn't locked his door.

Mateo came in through the door, still dressed in a tank with the sleeves cut off and mesh soccer shorts. He kicked off his shoes and came to sit by the bed. "Bad luck. Do you know where you got it?"

Paul shrugged against his stack of pillows. "Could have been anything. I didn't think the school food was that toxic."

Mateo laughed. "You've only been here a few months. It gets worse by the end of the school year, don't worry." He held out a plate of steaming tamales. "I can almost guarantee these won't poison you." Paul slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. Mateo frowned, seeing the amount of effort it took. "It's that bad?"

Paul looked down at his lap and shrugged. "I'm okay. But on second thought, maybe I shouldn't eat. I still feel kind of sick."

"Right, I should have realized." Mateo set down the tamales. "Do you need water?"

"That would be nice," Paul said, so Mateo got up and filled one of Paul's mugs with cool water. He hovered one hand by the bottom of the mug, ready to catch it if Paul dropped it. "Thank you," Paul said, taking the mug. "Could you get me another Tylenol?" Mateo retrieved the bottle from Paul's desk and dropped a tablet into Paul's hand. Paul murmured his thanks.

"You're welcome. Do you mind if I do my reading?" Mateo asked. "I'll stay here, but I have so much homework for tomorrow."

Paul groaned. "I'm going to miss so much!"

Mateo laughed. "I'll make sure someone from each of your classes gets notes for you. It'll be okay." He got settled in Paul's armchair and opened his copy of _Romeo and Juliet_.

Paul closed his eyes and let himself drift. While he was no stranger to woolgathering, as Miss Lavendar would say, now that he was in school again it felt strange not to be doing homework or practicing clarinet or _something_. He tried to relax into it. He kind of wanted to nap, but sleep wasn't coming, so he opened his eyes again. Mateo glanced up and smiled at him, and Paul smiled back. He felt so warm—not just because he was under four blankets from Anne and Mrs. Lynde. When he woke up from his nap at 9 PM, there was a note propped on his blankets:

 _feel better soon! :) p.s.: i left the tamales in the mini fridge_

Paul grinned and settled back onto his pillows. Maybe he'd been having a less-than-ideal few weeks, but there were certainly some bright spots.

Paul woke up without his usual morning soundtrack of birds chattering outside his window. He frowned at his phone. It was nearly two hours after his usual alarm was set. He knew that he should get up, especially because he was supposed to meet the soccer boys, but he had some lingering aches and wanted to sit wrapped up in his blanket burrito forever. He picked up his phone again and texted the boys.

 _I'll be late. Sorry!_

Then he burrowed back into his blankets and tried to go back to sleep. Before long he'd gotten to the stage where thoughts were syrup in his brain, crystallizing into dreams, but his phone went off a few minutes later.

"I thought I turned that off," he groaned, picking up the phone. "Hi, Grandma." His grandmother called every other week.

"Hello, Paul. I hope you're well." Paul softly snorted to himself, debating whether or not to mention the food poisoning. "What was that?"

"I picked up some food poisoning this week," Paul said, tracing his fingers along the drawing of Saturn on his comforter cover.

"I hope you're eating respectably and not eating junk food like your friends!" Grandmother said, her Scottish accent coming out in force. "It's all the chemicals they put in food nowadays, I don't wonder!"

"Don't worry, Grandma, I eat at the cafeteria, and they make pretty good food," Paul said. He leaned back on his pillows and stared at the shadows thrown across his ceiling from the tree outside.

"Are you eating enough fruit and vegetables?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"How did your homework go this fortnight?"

"I had an essay for English and a presentation for science and normal homework for everything, and I think all of it went okay," Paul said.

"Went well," Grandmother corrected. "I'm glad." Her voice softened. "I hope you feel better soon. Keep doing well in school."

Paul felt a lump develop in his throat. "Thank you, I hope so too. Goodbye, Grandma."

"Goodbye."

He ended the call and dropped the phone on his bed, digging both fists into his eyes. He couldn't say exactly why he suddenly felt like crying. He took deep breaths until the urge went away before getting out of bed and going to shower. He didn't really feel like playing soccer, but it was when he didn't feel like playing that he could really use a game to make himself feel better.

The next week of school was hard. Paul dragged himself through it by remembering that he was going to spend that weekend at Anne's. Ten minutes after school got out on Friday, he was in front of the school with his duffel bag packed and his clarinet case readied. He watched for Anne's VW Bug.

"Paul!" Anne called, getting out of the car. Gilbert extricated himself from the passenger seat and loped over. He and Paul exchanged fist bumps, and Gilbert took Paul's bag. Anne pulled Paul into a hug. He clung on with all of his strength.

"Oof, that's a little tight!" she said, looking at Paul with that keen glint in her eye, and Paul turned away.

"How have you been, Paul?" Gilbert asked, after they'd all gotten settled in the car.

"Good!" Paul said, without thinking. "You know. It's school." Gilbert nodded, smiling sympathetically.

"Can we put some music on?" Anne asked.

"You're the driver," Gilbert said. Anne passed him a handful of CDs from under the seat. Gilbert riffled through them and popped one into the CD player.

Paul cocked his head. "Why do you use CDs, Anne?"

"This car is too old to have an AUX port," Anne said, tapping the stereo. "But I like it that way."

By the time they'd made it to Redmond and dropped Gilbert at his dorm, Paul's stress had melted away. He moved to the front seat and drummed a rhythm on the dashboard. When they finally arrived at Patty's Place, Paul hugged Anne's roommates and settled in for the weekend. After dinner, Paul and Anne found a perch on the widow's walk of Patty's Place. Anne was armed with blankets and a thermos of hot chocolate. They sat in silence for a while, watching the stars.

"You know why it's called a widow's walk, right?" Anne asked.

"Yes, but would you tell me a story about it? I like the way you tell stories," Paul said.

Anne smiled and took a sip of hot chocolate. "Well, imagine being the wife of a sailor. You're very happy together in your house by the sea. You take picnics down to the beach and watch your dog play in the surf. You cuddle together during the winters, when you can't go outside without your breath freezing in your throat. But then your husband has to go to sea. You don't know when he's going to be back. It could be weeks or months. At first, you don't let yourself go onto the roof. It's too soon. But before long you can't help yourself, and you sit here, on the roof, looking out to sea, with the wild waves battering each other and any ships they find…" She wove her tale, her voice getting softer as she went on. "Do you want the story to have a happy ending or a sad ending?" Anne thought about Hester Gray, the Avonlea woman who died in the arms of her husband in their cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was still beautiful and sad enough to make her cry, if she was in the right mood.

Paul shivered and buried himself deeper in his blankets. "I think I want a sad ending," he whispered.

Anne nodded. "Finally, one day, you see a tiny dot off in the distance. It's a ship. It could be any ship, but you hope it's your husband's ship. It gets closer and closer as you pace the halls of your house, hoping against hope. You go down to the harbor to wait with the other wives, the best friends and children. The ship docks, the sailors come onto the pier. You strain your eyes, but your husband isn't among them. The captain comes up to you and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he says." Anne paused and wiped her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked.

Anne twisted the cap of the thermos around and around. "Yeah. It's just…" She ducked her head and rubbed at her eyes again. "Gilbert asked me out a few weeks ago, and I said no. This is the first time I've seen him since then, and it's just not the same. It feels silly to complain, since I'm the one who turned him down, but…"

Paul leaned into Anne's shoulder with his own, and she put an arm around him. "That's Gilbert's loss." Anne looked up, frowning, and Paul clarified, "It's stupid that he doesn't want to be good friends with you anymore. He's lucky to have you at all!"

"Thank you, Paul," she whispered.

Paul looked up at the stars. He felt his heart expanding until it flew up to join them. "I'm…having a hard time with school," he whispered back.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Everything's good." But even as he said it, he felt his eyes filling up. He and Anne breathed in the crisp autumn air. Sentences built up behind his teeth before they came out in a rush. "Grandma called today, and I felt like crying. I think I miss her. School's good, but it's so hard, and I don't want to have to make my own decisions. But I don't want to go back and live with Grandma, either."

Anne squeezed Paul with the arm around his shoulders. She didn't respond immediately. "Tell me about the good things," she suggested.

"Mateo. Joking around with the soccer boys. Soccer," Paul began, ticking them off on his fingers. "Science class. English. Creative writing. Gracie. Poetry. Clarinet. Trevor. The swimming pool. Being close to you."

Anne again allowed the silence to settle around them like a blanket before speaking. "I know it's hard. But it seems like there are a lot of things to love about being here."

Paul nodded and tucked his chin under the edge of the blanket. "Yeah," he said, his voice muffled.

"We should probably go in," Anne said sometime later. "It's a little too cold to sleep out here without sleeping bags." She and Paul packed up and headed inside. For the moment, Paul felt fully awake again. He wondered how long the feeling would last.


	5. Mateo Part I

Paul woke up late one Saturday to a voicemail from Anne.

"Hey, Paul! It's Anne. The girls and I have tickets to a ballet next weekend, and my coworker gave me a couple tickets today, so I was wondering if you'd like to come and bring one of your friends. Like Mateo." Paul could hear the smile and wink in her voice, or _italics_ , as she'd call it. "They could stay all weekend if they wanted! I think it'd be fun to have a sleepover. You can call me back whenever you're free. I hope you're doing well! Bye!"

Paul flopped back onto his pillows and listened to the message again. He was jealous of Anne's phone skills. While articulate in person, he was terrible at phone calls and leaving voicemails. He went downstairs for breakfast and tried to compose a message to Mateo over a bowl of cornflakes.

 _Hi! Do you like ballet?_

 _Hey, are you free next weekend?_

 _My friend invited me to a ballet, wanna come along?_

He frowned at his phone and wished his insides didn't get tangled into knots over a simple text. He set his phone face down on the table and tucked into his breakfast.

"Good morning!" Mateo said, sliding into the seat next to Paul. He set down his tray of waffles and turned to Paul, running one hand through his hair. "What are you doing today?"

Paul looked over and smiled, stomach filling with glitter. "I'm not sure yet. Probably I should work on that assignment for Mr. Czerny…"

"Pffft," Mateo said, picking up his glass of juice. "You can do that later."

Paul shook his head. "Well, I _was_ thinking of going to the pool today."

"Do you mind if I tag along?" Mateo asked. "It's a little too cold to play soccer."

"Sure!" Paul said, shoving cornflakes into his mouth in an effort not to dwell on the thought of Mateo in a swimsuit. "I'll just go get changed and come back?"

"No rush," Mateo said. "Look, they have ice cream for the waffles today!"

"You...you have ice cream on your nose," Paul said.

"Oops." Mateo stuck out his tongue and touched the tip of his nose with it, getting off the ice cream. Paul stared. "Oh yeah, I can touch my nose with my tongue!" Mateo did it again and fluttered jazz hands on either side of his head. "It's about as common as being left-handed."

"I can't even roll my tongue," Paul sighed. He caught sight of his phone, sitting innocently by his cereal bowl, and remembered Anne's invitation. "Oh, um, are you doing anything next weekend?"

Mateo pulled out his phone and checked his calendar. "Looks like I'm free. Why?"

"Oh, uh, my friend Anne invited me to go to a ballet then. She said I can bring a friend, and if you want, but no pressure, just if you feel like it, you could stay over?" Paul hated how he suddenly felt like he couldn't talk and took a big gulp of milk. He took too large a gulp and choked. Mateo thumped him on the back.

"Are you okay? Yeah, sure, I'd love to. Where does your friend live?"

Paul held one hand to his chest and gulped for air. "She, uh-"

"Hang on. You're allowed to breathe, you know." Mateo smiled at Paul and rubbed his back. Paul nodded wordlessly and took a few steadying breaths.

"She doesn't live that far away. I don't know how far, exactly, but less than an hour." He paused and took a tiny sip of milk. "She used to tutor me. Sort of. She was technically my babysitter, but she showed me so many poems and books."

"That's really cool. Maybe you could show me some of those poems," Mateo said, setting down his fork. "I want to get into poetry, but I've never really tried. Too many other cool things going on, I guess."

"I will!" Paul said. "So I'll tell her you'll come? She didn't say when the ballet was, just that it was on the weekend. I could find out when it is and you can stay over after the ballet, or maybe stay the whole weekend…?"

"I'll stay as long as you like," Mateo said, looking down at his shoes. Paul swallowed and took another sip of milk, hoping to drown the butterflies.

After breakfast, Paul went up to get changed into his swimsuit. When he went down to the pool, Mateo was already swimming laps. His lane was full, so Paul started swimming in the next lane. He hadn't gone swimming much before he started at the school, but he quickly fell in love with the sensation of moving through the water, feeling it work with him and against him. He swam a few laps of butterfly, throwing all his effort into making sure he had good form, before switching to freestyle. He experimented with the time between breaths: three strokes, five, seven. He'd just gotten to one end of the pool when Mateo got out of the lane next to him.

"Hey!" Mateo said. He'd hauled himself up to sit on the edge, and water pooled underneath him. "Feels great, doesn't it?"

"I love the water," Paul agreed.

"I'm gonna go over to the other section of the pool."

Paul looked over to the other section, where boys were diving from the springboards and diving platform, splashing each other, and practicing underwater handstands. "I'll do some dives," he decided. He could do the one and three meter dives with no trouble, and today he wanted to get to grips with the five meter dive. He ducked under the lane line and swam over to the ladder by the diving boards. There were a few boys in line for the diving platform. Paul watched each of them walk out to the end of the platform, swing their arms up, and jump. When it was his turn, he lined his toes up with the end of the platform and got into position. It wasn't that he was afraid of heights. It was more about the _smack_ if he messed up his form. With the others, the water felt relatively forgiving. With this one, he had to focus. He dived, touched his toes, pulled into a pike. Perfect. Relieved, he swam to the edge of the pool and watched Mateo do flips off the springboards.

Later, after Mateo had waved and left, Paul rested his chin on the edge of the pool and watched the watery autumn light stream over the wet tiles. The shrieks and splashes coming from behind him bounced off the walls and amplified, but he hardly noticed them. He closed his eyes and slowly kicked his legs, focusing on the feeling of water streaming past his feet. He turned to face the pool, one arm still holding onto the edge, before kicking off the side of the pool and swimming along the bottom. He could see everything from here; he'd always been able to open his eyes wide underwater. He surveyed the swimmers doing laps, the boys fooling around in the deep end, the divers cutting smoothly into the water. He held himself underwater until he could hardly bear it before shooting to the surface for air. Then it was back under. He swam a lazy sort of breaststroke to the other end of the pool. He trailed one hand among the bubbles streaming out from his nose, held his breath, blew out a gust of tiny bubbles.

Paul swam along the bottom to the middle of the pool. He kicked up to the surface, took a big gulp of air, sank to the bottom, and watched the world go by from below. He let himself float back up to the surface and looked up at the ceiling of the recreation center. It wasn't particularly interesting, but after a second of watching, Paul noticed a little bird flapping its wings up near one of the windows. It gave up trying to get through the glass and began swooping in large circles around the ceiling. _You can do it, little bird,_ Paul thought. _Just keep trying._ One of the custodians went over to the wall of windows and used a hook to open a pane of glass far off the ground. After a few false starts, the bird went soaring through the open pane. _Wow, this chlorine is really strong,_ Paul thought, swiping at his teary eyes. He ducked under the water once more before swimming to the ladder and getting wrapped up in his towel.

It was a very excited Mateo and Paul that piled into Anne's Bug that Friday afternoon. Paul had been in a strange mood all that week, so he was especially looking forward to the weekend. Stella waved at them from where she was tucked into the front seat.

"Hello boys!" Anne said, beaming. She ejected the CD that was playing (Florence + the Machine) and handed them her box of CDs. They flipped through them before settling on Carly Rae Jepsen. "Would you like to do something this afternoon before the ballet?"

"Which ballet is it, by the way?" Mateo asked, leaning forward.

" _The Merry Widow_ ," Anne said, checking her mirrors before pulling onto the highway. "I haven't seen it before, but Phil says it's a good one."

Paul and Mateo looked at each other, shrugging. While Paul's grandmother sometimes took him out, it was more often to the opera or theater than to the ballet. Anne fell into quiet conversation with Stella in the front. Paul pulled out one of the books of poetry he'd brought.

"Did you still want to read some poems?" he asked Mateo.

"I can't read in the car without getting super sick," Mateo said. "But maybe you could read them to me?"

"Okay," Paul said. He flipped through the book until he came to a good one. He cleared his throat, unsure, but as he spoke, the familiar words flowed from him more and more confidently.

" _The tree is here, still, in pure stone,  
in deep evidence, in solid beauty,  
layered, through a hundred million years.  
Agate, cornelian, gemstone  
transmuted the timber and sap  
until damp corruptions  
fissured the giant's trunk  
fusing a parallel being:  
the living leaves  
unmade themselves  
and when the pillar was overthrown  
fire in the forest, blaze of the dust-cloud,  
celestial ashes mantled it round,  
until time, and the lava, created  
this gift, of translucent stone."_

"Wow. Who is that?" Mateo asked.

"Pablo Neruda," Paul said. "Here's another one…" That poem was longer, and by the time Paul finished reciting it, Mateo had begun to doze, resting his head on Paul's shoulder. Paul held his breath and made sure not to move that shoulder. With his other hand, he flipped through the book until he found the eighth sonnet. He read it in a gentle whisper, Mateo's beanie hat tickling his cheek.

" _...if you were not an amber week,_

 _not the yellow moment_

 _when autumn climbs up through the vines;_

 _if you were not that bread the fragrant moon_

 _kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,_

 _oh, my dearest, I could not love you so!..."_

His whisper had apparently attracted Anne's attention, for she met his eyes in the rearview mirror. Paul swallowed and looked down at the book in his lap.

Paul was struck by the amount of activity with which they were greeted at Patty's Place. Apparently this was a very big deal for everyone involved. In one way he'd known that from the get-go; Anne told him to bring his most formal clothes, and he had. But when they arrived, it was to a scene of girls rushing around the house, makeup and shoes in hand, music blaring from portable speakers. Gilbert waved at Paul from his seat in the living room, dramatically plugging his ears. Paul waved back before rushing upstairs to get away from the hubbub, carrying his suit in its bag. He walked by Phil's room on his way to the guest room. In contrast to the whirlwind of activity taking place in the rest of the house, she seemed very relaxed as she put on her makeup at her vanity table.

"Hey, Phil," Paul called, standing at the doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, hun!" she said, turning to look at him. "Come right on in."

Paul hung his garment bag on the door and perched on the edge of the bed, watching her do her makeup.

"I just love ballets, don't you?" Phil said, blinking at her reflection and fixing her eyeliner with a q-tip.

"I've never been to one," Paul said.

"Well, this is your lucky day! But when I said I love ballets, I meant I love the _idea_ of ballets...and dressing up. I _love_ to look good," she concluded.

Paul couldn't help but laugh. "You look beautiful, Phil."

"Oh, I know I do, hun." She winked at him in the mirror. Paul didn't know how she did it, but somehow her vanity wasn't uncomfortable or obnoxious, and her pet names felt completely sincere. She picked up a tube of lipstick and held it next to her cheek before putting on a first coat.

"Hey, Phil…" Paul said hesitantly.

"What's up?"

"Could you do a little makeup on me?" He blurted it out in one go before he could stop himself. He prayed she wouldn't make a big deal of it.

"Abso-fucking-lutely!" she said, spinning around on her chair and clapping her hands. Paul grinned at the sparkle in her eyes. "You're going to look so cute, Mateo won't believe his eyes."

"Oh no no, no," Paul stuttered. "I don't want a lot. Just a little." He wrapped his arms around his own torso. "Do you really think I'll look cute?"

"You are already cute as a button," Phil said, "it's completely unfair. I would kill for curls like yours." She gestured for Paul to come over to the vanity table. "Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, foundation, lipstick, bronzer, blush…"

Paul stared down at the unfamiliar implements. His experience with makeup was extremely limited, since he went from his no-fuss grandmother's house straight to a boys' school. Even a small collection of makeup would have been overwhelming. Phil's vanity table was covered in a shocking amount of makeup. Paul's eyes were drawn to the eyeshadows. Glittering gold, pink, purple…

"I don't know what they are," he admitted. "Could you show me...on your face?"

Phil laughed. "Oh, hun. We'll start at the beginning." Pointing to each part of her face, she explained what each substance was called and what it did.

"I think maybe eyeliner and mascara and a little bit of eyeshadow? But only a little mascara, and just natural eyeshadow," he was quick to explain.

"Up to you," Phil said cheerfully, "but I hope we can get you into lipstick someday. You've got gorgeous lips. Here, sit. Close your eyes." Paul complied. He felt brushes and sponges sweep across his eyelids.

"Phil?"

"Yes?"

"How did you and Joan get together?"

Phil chuckled. "We met on vacation. It was us against a crowd of weird old retirees. She just charmed the pants off me...and then _charmed the pants off me_ , if you know what I mean. How we got together specifically I don't remember. Probably a long beach walk and talk or some romantic shit like that. Open your eyes." She brushed mascara onto Paul's eyelashes. "Are you fishing for advice? 'Cause old Phil doesn't have much good advice in that department. I used to date, oh, _so_ many boys before I figured out I was a lesbian, and they did all the work of asking me out. Lucky me." She shook her head and laughed.

"So how do you know who does all the work when you date a girl?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Phil tapped her mascara wand against her lips. "Hard to say. I guess it feels like an exchange. You do things for the person you love and they do stuff for you, you know?" She looked at him and half-smiled. "It's harder when you're young, and especially when you're gay, I think. You might have to say something to get the ball rolling."

Paul nodded and sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."

Phil chucked him under the chin. "You'll figure it out, a smart boy like you. Or you could always just plant one on him!" She turned him so he could see his reflection in the mirror.

Paul couldn't speak for a moment. He looked so nice. He still had all his familiar features, but his eyes were...more, somehow. His already long eyelashes were a beautiful fringe. He looked like a hero on the cover of a romance novel. "Thank you _so much_ , Phil!"

"You're welcome!" she said, ruffling his hair. "Do you want me to do something to your hair?" She helped him tidy his hair and straightened his tie for him after he changed into his suit. "Now get out there. I have to finish getting ready." She waved away Paul's profuse thanks as he headed downstairs. He went to join Mateo at the kitchen island.

"Awesome, you're here!" Mateo said, hopping off his bar stool. "Are you ready for this?" He grabbed his beanie in one hand, ready to pull it off.

"Yes?"

Mateo whipped off the hat he'd been wearing all day to reveal a buzzcut.

"Wow!" Paul said. It was still possible to tell that Mateo had curly hair, but barely. The short hair showed off his beautiful cheekbones. "You look great." He did. He sported a white suit with a navy shirt and red bow tie; the overall effect was impossibly dapper.

"Thank you," Mateo said, doing a melodramatic bow. When he came back to his stool, he seemed to notice Paul's makeup. "Hey, you look really nice too," he said, quietly, taking in Paul's look.

"Thank you." Paul couldn't bear the effect their eye contact had on him, so he scrambled to find something else to focus on. "Oh, look at Anne!"

She paused halfway down the stairs to take in the praise. Her hair, in loose waves around her shoulders, made a wonderful contrast to her navy blue dress. Phil came in behind her.

"Look at Queen Anne stealing my thunder again," she sighed. To her credit, she also looked radiant in a sequined flapper dress and headband over her curls. Everyone looked good: Stella and Emma, Priscilla, Phil and Joan, Gilbert, Anne, and Mateo.

"You look beautiful too, darling," Anne said, leaning over and kissing Phil's cheek. Phil giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. "Is everyone ready to go?"

Everyone cheered and piled into various cars for the trip into the city. Paul hadn't thought about the fact that they would have to drive for a couple hours to get there and sighed over his suit, which would probably crumple. But spirits were high and the people in his car (Anne, Gilbert, and Mateo) sang along to the radio. While the drive through the countryside was dim and then dark, eventually they drove through the lights of the suburbs and the city. Paul pressed his hands up against the cold glass and looked at the city flash by. They crossed over a river surrounded by swanky restaurants and dotted with ferries and yachts. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees like little stars.

"Here we are!" Anne said, pulling into the parking lot of the opera house. They met up with the others at the entrance to the building.

"It's so beautiful!" Paul exclaimed. The facade featured elaborately carved swirls and statues. When he passed through the open front doors, he discovered a lobby done in crimson and gold.

"Here are your tickets," Anne said. She took two paper tickets out of her wallet and passed them to Mateo and Paul. Paul held his reverently. "Ready?"

"Yes!" Paul said. He looked around the lobby, taking in the faces of their fellow guests. They were the youngest ones there, except for some younger kids who seemed to be with their grandparents. Everyone was dressed up, and many took sips from champagne flutes or wine glasses. It was all so elegant Paul thought he might burst. He exchanged a smile with Mateo before their group went through the doors and found their seats. Since Mateo and Paul's tickets hadn't been bought with everyone else's tickets, they were sitting separately. They filed up the stairs to the balcony and sank into their seats.

"This is so cool," Paul whispered. He thought he probably didn't have to whisper, but he decided to just in case.

"Yeah!" Mateo whispered back. He pulled something partially out of his pocket and nudged Paul. Paul saw a box of Junior Mints. Seeing Paul's scandalized expression, Mateo whispered, "Just for before the show. And they're quiet! No wrappers." He smiled and popped a couple into his mouth.

"Fine," Paul said, taking a few, trying not to smile.

"What do you think her favorite candy would be?" Mateo said, indicating a woman sitting a few rows ahead of them. Her hair was in an elaborate twist, and she seemed to be wearing pearls.

"She probably wants people to think she's too grown-up to eat candy, but she actually loves sour gummy worms," Paul responded, and Mateo nodded. "What about that guy?" Their new victim was showing off a short-sleeved button-down and man bun.

"Something gross. Butterfinger?" Mateo suggested.

Paul wrinkled his nose. "I always used to trade those away after trick-or-treating."

"Hold on. _Your grandma_ let you go trick-or-treating?" Mateo asked, taking another few junior mints.

Paul elbowed Mateo in the ribs. "Well, _technically_ , she thought I was going to a Halloween party… and I told her I would only have one candy…"

Mateo laughed. "What are you gonna be for Halloween this year?"

"I don't know yet," Paul said. "Maybe a pirate? Not a cheap Halloween store pirate. A really cool, kind of historically accurate pirate."

"I like that! I'm not sure yet what I'll do, but I was thinking about Frankenstein's monster. What do you think?"

"I like that you know it's Frankenstein's monster," Paul whispered back. "Oh, look, the curtain is going down!"

"See you on the other side!" Mateo said, grinning at Paul and slipping the junior mints back in his pocket.

Paul couldn't stop fidgeting at first. The opening scene of the ballet featured a few men skipping around waving papers in the air, and Paul was hyper-aware of Mateo next to him. Mateo had one arm stretched out along the armrest between them, while Paul twisted his hands together in his lap, resisting the urge to reach out for Mateo's hand. But by intermission he'd settled into the ballet. The costumes were stunning, particularly the Merry Widow's dresses. Over intermission he and Mateo ate junior mints while puzzling over the plot (neither of them had read the programs). The ballet finished happily, of course, if very heterosexually, and Paul couldn't stop grinning. The whole experience had been a perfect golden bubble that kept Paul in its embrace for hours.

When they arrived back at Patty's Place, Paul found himself reluctant to take off his makeup and change out of his suit. It would feel like a concrete end to the night and a reminder that he had to go back to school. But, eventually, he changed into his pajamas and a thick sweater from the oak chest in the guest room. Phil suggested hot chocolate, so the gang (minus Gilbert, Stella, and Emma) gathered in the living room. They had a real fireplace, the first one Paul had ever seen, that cast orange flickers of flame across the carpet. Paul half-dozed against an armchair as ballerinas in fluffy skirts danced through his head.

 **A/N:** The poems quoted are both by Pablo Neruda: "The Tree is Here, Still, In Pure Stone" and "Sonnet Viii: If Your Eyes Were Not The Color Of The Moon."


	6. Mateo Part II

yeah so I originally planned to wait to release this chapter cause I don't have the next one written yet, but I'm so proud of this chapter and I wanna share it with y'all now!

warning for sadness and discussion of mental health, take care of yourself babes x

the poetry quoted is by pablo neruda (same poem as last time) and margaret atwood ("flying inside your own body")

* * *

When he woke up the next morning in the guest-room bed, Paul took a second to figure out how he had ended up there and not in the living room. Once he thought about it, he could dimly remember Anne shaking him awake and helping him upstairs. It took another few seconds to work out that Anne was leaning over him in reality, not just in memory.

"Good morning, Paul," she said softly. "I'm sorry to wake you up this early, but you'll want to see this."

"What?" he asked blearily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. It was light outside, but not overly so.

"I want to show you something on the beach. We can only see it now because of the tides." Anne checked her watch. "I'll go and wake Mateo and give you time to wake up." She ducked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Paul sat in bed for a few more minutes, getting ready for the day, before pulling on fresh clothes and yesterday's jumper. His dreams were slowly coming back to him. They'd been slow and gentle and warm, though he didn't remember any faces or events.

Downstairs, Paul saw Anne packing food into a picnic basket and Mateo sitting on a bar stool, scrunched up inside his sweatshirt. Mateo tended to be better than Paul at getting up in the morning, but it had been a late night, after all.

"Ready?" Anne asked, looking up at him. "I have granola bars, fruit, and cheese sticks, and we can have a proper breakfast when we get back."

"Okay," Paul said, deciding to put all his faith in whatever it was Anne was planning.

Paul was reluctant to leave the nice warm house. Outside, frosty leaves crunched underfoot, and he could see his breath. He snuggled up against Anne, who wrapped her arm around him. Mateo hesitated before crossing to Anne's other side, and she chuckled before enfolding him in her other arm.

"We'll only be able to see it for about half an hour, so we'll be back to the house soon," Anne said. She let go of Paul's shoulder to check her watch. "We'll be right on time." She wrapped her arm more snugly around Paul, and their lopsided four-legged-race unit continued down to the beach. None of them felt like saying much. There was no wind, which was a mercy, but the cold air still felt as though it would whip through them in an instant if they opened their mouths.

One half of the beach was rocky and pebbled. The other half had a smooth spread of sand perfect for building sandcastles. There was one lone figure, far down that end of the beach, apparently throwing something for a big black dog to chase. But Anne led the boys to the rocky end of the beach. The water was at lowest tide, so they could pick their way over and through the rocks without too much difficulty. Finally, they arrived at a boulder that, to Paul, looked like every other boulder on the beach.

Anne stepped away from them and bowed grandly, sweeping one arm to show off whatever was behind the boulder. Paul and Mateo stepped forward; Paul gasped. It was a cave! He moved farther into the cave to see better. It seemed to have one main cavity that led off to many smaller cavities, some only a foot or two high, others tall enough for him to walk through with his head bent. Paul reached forward to touch one of the walls. It was rough and wet, some parts covered in moss. It was honeycombed with holes formed over years and years of weathering. Each breath of chill, salty air was bracing. There was an edge of seaweed to the air, too.

"This is so cool!" he and Mateo said at once, and laughed.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Anne asked, touching the walls and looking up at the ceiling of the cave. "I come here sometimes to think and write in my journal."

Paul tucked himself into a boy-sized cavity in the back wall. He reached down to touch the sand and scrunched it between his fingers. It was rough, with large pieces of seashells and other beach material. He shifted to lie on his stomach and examined one of the tunnels at ground level. It was barely big enough for a cat to get into.

"My rock people would love to live somewhere like this, though I guess they couldn't all live in the same cave. The Golden Lady would have to live somewhere else so Nora wouldn't get jealous."

"They would, wouldn't they?" Anne smiled. "I haven't thought about the rock people in ages."

"Who are the rock people?" Mateo asked, turning from where he was running his fingers over the honeycomb wall.

"My imaginary friends from when I was younger," Paul said, reaching into the tunnel with one arm. He patted the sand, feeling for anything interesting. "They were rocks on the beach near my grandmother's house. Oh, look at this!" He pulled a shell out of the tunnel and brushed the sand off its surface. It was a fairly large shell, glimmering purple, with a cluster of barnacles along one edge.

"That's awesome!" Mateo said.

"You can keep it if you like," Anne said.

"That's okay. Shells never look as pretty when you take them home." Paul set the shell on the sand and dusted off his hands.

Once they'd satisfied themselves looking at the cave, Anne asked if they wanted to go right home. Both Paul and Mateo wanted to look at the tide pools, so Anne set out the picnic blanket on a big smooth rock while they looked for starfish. They only found one big orange starfish, but they did find many crabs of all different sizes and colors. Mateo found a prickly green sea urchin. Then they settled down for a snack. Paul felt fully awake by now and full of energy; he felt as though he could have run all the way down the long beach and back, but he just relaxed with his back against a rock and ate apple slices.

"How many mermaids do you think have washed up here?" Paul asked Anne.

Anne looked out at the bay. "I think this bay is relatively safe, so they wouldn't wash up very often. But over the years, probably at least five? Just imagine an ordinary person living in the village, coming down to walk their dog in the morning, and they find a mermaid with her hair all spread over the sand…"

"Why is it always 'her'?" Mateo interjected.

"Well, because mermaids are women, of course! There's 'merman' and 'merperson' for the other members of their society," Anne said.

"But why would it just be mermaids washing up?" he persisted. "You specifically didn't mention the gender of the person finding them, but ensured it was a mermaid that washed up."

"Oh, that's because Anne is imagining herself as the villager, and she'd rather bump into a mermaid," Paul explained, nudging Anne's foot with his own. Anne blushed, or perhaps it was the chill morning that made her cheeks so rosy.

"Paul's got me there," she said.

"Well, if _I_ was the villager in this fine village," Mateo said, jumping to his feet. He casually strolled down the beach, throwing an imaginary stick and calling, "Go get it, Spot! That's a good boy!" Then he stopped short and clapped his hands to his cheeks in a silent-movie expression of shock. "A merman! I didn't think mermen were real!" He carefully knelt on a patch of sand between rocks and held his head over the merman's chest, listening for a heartbeat. "He's alive! Help me get him to the ocean! You, sir! You look like you're nice and strong!"

Paul got to his feet, suppressing a grin. "Don't you think we should take him to a doctor first? Or a vet?"

"I think he'll die without water!" Mateo responded. "Maybe we could pour water on him?"

Paul grabbed an imaginary bucket off the ground, hoisted it into the air, and poured it over the merman; Mateo jumped back to avoid the spray of water.

"Look at that! Did you see him breathe?"

"Aye aye, cap'n!" Paul called, and bent to refill his bucket. "We'll save him yet!"

Mateo bent to pick up the merman. He huffed and puffed before standing to his full height, arms out in front of him, supporting the merman. Paul turned to look at him and caught his breath. Mateo's eyes were sparkling and his skin was glowing in the chill air. In his cable-knit sweater, he looked the part of a twentieth-century lighthouse keeper rescuing a merman. Mateo caught Paul's eyes and grinned. "Are you coming?"

"Coming where?"

"To the ocean, of course! We have to get him back in the water!" Mateo raced for the water, giving up the pretense that he was carrying something heavy, and Paul ran after him. He could feel that extra energy he'd felt before thumping through his body with the salty air he took in with big breaths, and he realised halfway to the water that he didn't feel cold anymore.

"Here we are! Mr. Merman sir, here we are!" Mateo again took up his merman-carrying pose before carefully setting his cargo on the edge of the water. "I'm sorry, the water is too cold for me to go in. You'll have to swim." Paul couldn't hold back his giggles anymore. Mateo turned to him, brow creased, and said, "The health and safety of our mer-friends is no laughing matter, sir!"

"No, you're absolutely right," Paul said, through giggles. "You have done excellent work today in saving this merman."

"Why, thank you!" Mateo swept a deep bow. He turned to see the merman swimming away. "There he goes."

Paul instinctively threw his arms around his friend. His curls weren't there to tickle Paul's nose anymore, but he still smelled his shampoo.

"Oh, hi," Mateo said, turning to hug Paul properly. Paul couldn't remember if they'd ever properly hugged before, but if they had, it hadn't been like this. He could still feel the chilly wind on his ears and fingers, but he felt totally safe and warm. Finally he released his friend and grinned.

"Last one back is a rotten egg!" He took off running, feeling the sand beneath his pounding footsteps. He wanted to keep running, so he circled around the rocky part of the beach to get to Anne. Mateo opted to pick his way through the rocks. They got there at the same time and grinned at each other, hands on knees, taking in the undiluted freshness of the morning.

Anne smiled at them both and stood up with the picnic basket on her arm. "I don't know about you two, but I'm getting pretty chilly."

"Yeah, let's head back," Paul agreed, and they trooped back to the house in a comfortable silence.

* * *

The rest of the day was quieter and slower after the high energy they felt on the beach. Paul and Mateo hung around the house all afternoon doing homework. It took them awhile to stop goofing off and get down to business, but Paul felt much better when he'd finally sunk his teeth into his essay. He was writing about planets and gravity, and he loved reading about the rules and forces that held planets together. When they paused for an early dinner, they found the conversation much less interesting than homework. Anne had had to leave to run some mysterious but important errands, and they were left with Priscilla, Phil, and Stella. Stella began the conversation with the sorts of questions Paul knew to expect from adults: how do you like school, what are your hobbies, what do you want to do after school.

"I'm so tired of that question, " Paul lamented to Mateo later. They had made the executive decision to leave the rest of the homework until Sunday so that they could enjoy Patty's Place. They each took a blanket to sit in front of the fire. Paul lay down beside the couch while Mateo lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"Which question? They all stink," Mateo said. He took off his beanie, balled it up, and gently lobbed it at the ceiling. He caught it on the way down and threw it again.

"What I want to do after college." Paul could feel a variety of objections to the question bubbling up and couldn't decide which to voice, so he sighed and stayed quiet.

"They're just adults that barely know us. You could just make something up," Mateo pointed out, lobbing the beanie again.

"That feels dishonest," Paul said.

Mateo snorted. "That's because it literally is. But does it matter that much to you? It's barely even a lie, just tell them one of the things you're thinking about."

Paul was surprised by how cynical Mateo sounded. "I just...I guess it's a reminder that I don't really know what I..." Paul sighed. That was a lie. "I know what I want to do, but every time they ask, it reminds me that maybe it's impractical. It _is_ impractical. And I don't want to think about that."

Mateo flipped onto his stomach, resting his head on his splayed arms and gazing down at Paul. Shadows played across his face. "You mean being a writer, yeah?"

"Yeah. " Paul sighed. "Yeah, I want...I _need_ to be a writer."

"So do it, " Mateo said. "Listen. It's not like I don't know what they all say about dreams. But I think you could really do it, you know? Don't go into it thinking you're gonna sit down and write the Great American Novel. Just write a bit when you feel like it, or every day, or whatever, and then you might end up with a book. And you're a really good writer. Anything you write would be worthy of...Of... Well, it would be good. Really good. I bet you could get a magazine to publish your shopping list." Mateo had seemed very serious during the whole speech, gesturing with one hand, but at that last remark he reached down and booped Paul's nose. He let his fingers linger, trailing across Paul's cheek, before pulling his hand back to his body. Paul couldn't be sure whether Mateo was pink because of the fire, or… or…

"Are you sure?" he said finally, because he didn't know what else to say. Mateo was often so laid back, and just then he'd been filled with conviction.

"Yeah. I'm sure," Mateo said. He sat up and pulled his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Paul sat up too, pulling the blanket more snugly around his shoulders.

"What about you?" Paul asked. He never heard Mateo talk about his plans.

"I don't know. Maybe a teacher or an editor or something." He smiled wanly.

"You don't seem excited."

Mateo seemed to curl in on himself a little bit. He rested his head on his knees. "it's not my dream, but I want to be able to support my family. The one I have and the one I'll make. We've always been like that, you know? Looking out for each other."

Paul scooched closer to where Mateo was sitting. He reached one hand out of the blanket and reached toward Mateo's foot. It seemed strange to touch his sock-covered foot, so he touched Mateo's ankle instead. "That's noble."

"Don't say it's noble," Mateo responded, more forcefully than Paul expected. "It's just what I want. And I do like English. Don't," he added, "ask me what I would do if I could do anything."

"Jeez, I'm _sorry_ ," said Paul reflexively. He withdrew his hand from Mateo's ankle.

"No, wait, sorry. I just don't want you to feel sorry for me." Mateo sighed and smiled at Paul. "I'll have a fun job, but I won't center my life around it. I hate that adults make us feel like our jobs will be the most important thing! I'm gonna live around here, close to all my siblings. I want to have pets, and a husband, and kids. My house will always be full of friends." He smiled dreamily.

Paul thought about that. It sounded wonderful. He hadn't really considered his future before, not seriously. All his daydreams were so far from what he thought his future could be, and he didn't really know how to start thinking about a realistic future. Mateo's vision of his future sounded like a thing he could enjoy, as much as it sounded completely alien. Paul had no cousins, no aunts and uncles. Only Grandmother and his father. He could imagine the pets he'd have: a tabby cat, maybe a wolfhound. Something big and calm. They'd take long walks on the beach and Paul would daydream in the salty ocean air. Maybe he'd even get to come home to a husband making breakfast for them both... Without quite realising, he let out a happy sigh. Mateo smiled down at him.

"Soon we'll be outta here and we'll be able to do whatever we want to," he said, and to Paul it sounded like he meant "we, you and me." He looked up at Mateo, still smiling down at him. His throat suddenly felt constricted, his heart raced, his hands were sweaty. God, he hated this part of having a crush. He didn't like being nervous. He noticed, as he was gathering his courage to do something, that Mateo was gazing at him with lips softly parted, one hand on the couch between them. Paul opened his mouth to say something-

"Boys?" Anne called. "I'm home, do you want brownies?"

Damn, damn, damn. He didn't say those words often, and he hadn't meant to now, but he thought them with a surprising amount of venom. Well, they had time. He could say something to Mateo tomorrow, or after brownies, or something. Paul sighed and stood up.

"Am I interrupting something?" Anne stood in the doorway, jacket half off, bag of groceries hanging off one arm. "I'm sorry, I'll just..." She turned and walked into the kitchen.

Mateo looked up at Paul from his seat on the couch. He stood up next to Paul, took his hand, and squeezed it. He dropped Paul's hand and walked ahead of him to the kitchen. "Hey, Anne," he said, and Paul could hear him asking something about her day. He couldn't move. His heart was pounding just as much as before, and now he had the added sensation of so many butterflies. He moved one foot in front of the other until he got to the kitchen.

"It's very warm by the fire, isn't it?" Anne twinkled. Paul put both hands to his cheeks and felt their warmth. He glared at Anne, who winked at him as she bit into a brownie.

He didn't quite know what to do with his hands, his arms, his body, his mouth. So he ducked to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He didn't know much about this sort of thing, but that didn't seem like a friendly hand squeeze. That felt like a "we got interrupted but we'll get back to it" hand squeeze. Over the past few months, he'd been so occupied with his own thoughts and feelings and trying not to be obvious that he hadn't spent a whole lot of time thinking about Mateo's end of the situation. Honestly, when he had thought about it, Mateo not being into him had felt like a no-brainer. But...

He dried his hands and re-entered the kitchen. Phil had joined them, and they all laughed at a joke Paul had missed. Paul felt even more wrong-footed. Maybe he should just go to bed. But Mateo looked over at him and smiled, a little secret smile that still had a melt to it, and Paul smiled back. That decided that. Even if he felt like he was being stomped on by elephants, he would stay.

After Phil and Anne said their goodnights, the latter reminding them not to stay up too late, the two boys stood awkwardly together in the kitchen. Paul was very aware of the distance between them.

"I think we have something to say to each other, hey?" Mateo said softly.

Paul's stomach swooped. "Yeah."

Mateo extended one hand, and Paul took it. They walked together to the living room and settled on the couch facing each other.

Paul felt that he owed it to Mateo to say something, since so far it had been the other boy taking the initiative. But he didn't know what to say. He felt as though "like" wasn't a strong enough verb, and "love" was too strong.

Mateo laughed a little. "Words not working for you?"

The tension broken, Paul laughed too. "And I'm supposed to be good with words."

Mateo moved closer to Paul. "This might do the trick." He leaned forward into Paul's space, slowly, letting him decide. Paul could hardly believe this was finally happening. He moved forward, heart thumping wildly, to meet Mateo's lips with his own. Mateo tasted like brownies. That was all Paul could register before Mateo pulled away, dark eyes taking in Paul's own. Paul hesitated for only a split second before kissing him again, deciding to let their lips do the talking. It was messy, of course, but all Paul could feel was joy.

Later, when Paul's lips felt buzzy and warm, he hugged Mateo goodnight and went up to bed. His whole body thrummed with new sensations, his mind with thoughts of Mateo. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for ages. He went over to the window and leaned on the sill, gazing out at the sea. Their morning in the caves and around the tide pools, Mateo carrying an invisible merman, felt an eternity in the past.

He was unbelievably happy, but he suddenly remembered that their weekend was almost over, and then a wave of sorrow rushed up from his toes and bubbled over as tears. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor and let himself sink into this unexpected sorrow.

"Paul?" Mateo stood at the door. Looking at him made Paul sob again. In his pajamas, barefoot, worried, Mateo looked like a little boy. "Can I-"

"Yes," Paul choked out.

Mateo rushed over and dropped to his knees. He crouched in front of Paul, hands on Paul's knees, looking at him with liquid eyes that reflected the moonlight coming in through the window.

"It's not you," Paul managed.

"You don't have to talk now," Mateo said, moving one hand to Paul's arm and rubbing gently. He looked relieved, though, Paul noticed.

Paul took a few shuddering breaths. He wasn't totally clear about why he was crying, so it wasn't as hard as it could have been to separate himself from his tears. He wiped his eyes with the arm Mateo wasn't holding and took another, calmer, breath.

"I knew that school was less fun than it was at first, but I didn't realize that I felt like this. Until now, I guess. I don't wanna go back. I wanna stay here with you." He narrowly managed to avoid saying "forever," which was what he felt like saying at the moment.

Mateo couldn't help smiling, though it was wobbly on one side. "I wish I'd known."

"What, that I like you?" Paul let out a teary laugh.

"That too, but I meant about school." Mateo paused and shifted to sit beside Paul against the wall, taking Paul's hand in his and sandwiching it between both his hands. He laughed. "I've kinda figured you were into me for awhile, but I didn't know for sure until 'if you were not an amber week,'" he quoted. "That's the phrase that stood out to me. Sorry, but that's so cheesy!" He nudged Paul with his elbow. "I loved it, though," Mateo added in a softer voice.

Paul covered his face with both hands, speechless. "Oh," he said eventually. At first he couldn't believe his own foolishness in assuming Mateo had been asleep, but if it had brought him and Mateo together, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Mateo leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "So, school," he said.

"School," Paul said, more softly. "I love it. I just feel…" he took a moment to organize his messy thoughts. "I'm tired all the time. Not...tired tired." He struggled for an analogy. Temporarily stumped, he turned to poetry. "'A fine dust clogs the air I breathe in.'"

Mateo leaned his head against Paul's shoulder. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "We did that poem last week. I didn't memorize it, but wasn't the first half optimistic?"

"Yeah. 'When you breathe in you'll lift like a balloon and your heart is light too & huge, beating with pure joy, pure helium.'"

They breathed in together, breath after breath, oxygen and nitrogen instead of helium, melancholy instead of joy.

"I don't always know what to say," Mateo said. It surprised Paul; Mateo usually seemed steady and self-confident. "But you'll have that someday. I know you will."

"Right now I just want to breathe normally," Paul whispered.

"Will you let me help?" Mateo murmured back. Paul just squeezed his hand in response. Mateo kissed his cheek again.

"Will you stay?" Paul asked.

"As long as you need."

Night melted away around the two boys until it was just them, the two of them together against whatever the morning would bring.


	7. Christmas Market

Note: brief mention of homophobia in the context of PDA.

Short chapter, but it feels right! It's been a while but I really do mean to finish the story and I know more or less where I'm going with it. Probably no more than three more chapters, as much as I love this world.

* * *

The first thing Paul saw the next morning was Mateo. He was still in his pajamas, tucked in the window seat, writing in a notebook. He smiled as he wrote, stopping occasionally to gaze out the window and tap his pen on his chin. The morning light slanting across his face made his brown eyes glow amber. Paul stretched and let the memories of the night before wash over him. He and Mateo had eventually crawled into bed and cuddled up like a pile of sleepy puppies. Paul had been too tired to be shy or do the "are we going to share" conversational dance.

"Hey." Paul's voice creaked with sleep.

"Hey!" Mateo looked up and smiled, shutting his notebook and setting it down next to him. "Sleep well?"

"No thanks to you. You kicked our blanket off!"

"I was literally asleep, don't I get a pass?"

"I think I can find it in me to forgive you." Paul sat up and hugged his knees. Mateo loped over to the bed and sat down next to Paul.

"What do we do now?" Paul asked.

"Do you mean about us? Can this wait until after breakfast?"

"Okay."

"Can I hold your hand in front of Anne?"

"Oh, she's never going to stop teasing me," Paul moaned, thumping back onto the pillows.

"Is that a no?"

"No." Paul smiled up at Mateo. "You can hold my hand anytime." He'd never said those words before, but they felt perfectly natural in his mouth.

Mateo smiled and leaned forward over Paul, who pushed up against the pillows to meet his lips.

"Okay, breakfast," Mateo said, running one hand through Paul's hair.

"Yes please."

Paul took his clothes to get changed in the bathroom while Mateo changed in the guest room. Then they headed down to breakfast. Wafts of delicious smelling air came up the staircase from the kitchen. Sure enough, the inhabitants of Patty's Place were arrayed around the kitchen preparing their preferred breakfast foods.

"Good morning,boys!" Anne said cheerfully. Her eyes widened at their clasped hands and she couldn't stop herself from holding both hands over her heart and grinning at them both. Paul narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed before turning back to a skillet full of pancakes.

"I'm having pancakes, but if you're sick of sweet food you could have something else." Anne brandished her spatula at Priscilla's skillet, filled with tofu and vegetables.

"What do you want?" Paul asked Mateo.

"I could go for eggs and bacon," Mateo mused.

"In the fridge," Anne said. "What about you, Paul?"

"Anything but oatmeal." He and Anne laughed.

"You could have some of my pancakes. Would you mind whipping some cream?"

The morning passed in a blur of activity in the kitchen and preparations to go back to school. Paul wondered how school would be different, how it would feel to walk into soccer practice hand in hand with Mateo. How and where he and Mateo could sneak a few kisses. He had a hard time reconciling the beautiful golden day they'd had yesterday with the fluorescent-lit days of school. Still, he supposed, he would figure it out. They would figure it out together.

After breakfast, he and Mateo took their places the back seat of Anne's car. She'd loaned them a thickly-knit blanket, which they draped over their laps. Mateo held his fingers to his lips and pretended to drag on an imaginary cigarette before letting his breath puff in front of him like smoke.

"Cigarettes are gross," Paul said sternly.

"I know," Mateo said, doing it again. "Remember candy cigarettes from when we were kids?"

"It's kind of messed up."

"No kidding." Mateo let his hand drop into his lap before wiggling it over to take Paul's. Mateo's fingers were longer and narrower than Paul's. They curved around Paul's hand like a comma. Classical music and warm air started drifting from the front of the car. Paul felt like snuggling up like a cat and soaking it all in.

Over the next couple hours, Paul and Mateo talked about their relationship. Neither of them had dated anyone before, but they were eager to try. _Boyfriend_ , Paul thought to himself. _I can do that._ He must have fallen asleep at some point, because Anne had to wake him up when they arrived, and he opened his bleary eyes. He and Mateo got their bags out of the trunk, said goodbye to Anne, and went up to their rooms.

It must be said that Paul did not do any of his homework that weekend. He made a half-hearted attempt, and it went so far as putting a textbook and notebook on his desk, but that was as far as it got. He spent much more time lying on his bed with Mateo. Even just being in the same room, gazing at each other, made Paul so happy he could burst.

"Are we going to tell everyone?" Paul asked quietly. "Is it safe if we hold hands?" His stomach dropped at the thought of anyone bullying them, and he pulled Mateo closer to him.

Mateo gently squeezed Paul's shoulder. "We don't have to tell anybody if you don't want to. I think we would be pretty safe though, don't you?"

Paul ran a hand through the soft curls at the base of Mateo's neck while he thought. There were three couples at school, two of which were gay (the other was Gracie and her boyfriend). If they got bullied, it wasn't out in the open, so Paul didn't know about it.

"We can tell people. Let's not kiss in the hallways, though." Paul looked at Mateo to gauge his reaction. His boyfriend looked back at him, quiet and steady.

"Sounds good to me." He paused and poked Paul's nose. "I didn't really want to be one of those gross couples anyway, at least in public." Paul made a face and they laughed.

They finally got to bed an hour past their normal bedtime. Mateo snuck out into the hallway, keeping an eye out for hall monitors. Paul curled up into his blanket and smiled until he fell asleep.

The strange thing about having a boyfriend was that it was all so normal. Paul was deliriously happy, of course, but he still went to class, agonised over homework, played soccer in the drizzly winter rain. There were times when he sat in the bathroom on the top floor, the one no one used, and sat with his arms around his knees, staring out the window, too numb to think about anything. Most of those times Mateo was there, quietly working on homework or giving Paul a foot rub, but sometimes he wasn't, and Paul would take a few extra minutes before he left to make sure he didn't look like a zombie.

In other ways, of course, nothing was normal. A few months ago he'd hardly said he was gay aloud, and now he snuck kisses from Mateo in between classes, after goals at practice, and in the caf. They swapped and stole and borrowed sweaters as though they'd been doing it their whole lives, fell asleep over homework together, and shared one milkshake with two straws at the diner when they could convince an upperclassman to drive them. It was the sort of thing Paul was sure only happened to straight couples in movies.

December brought with it Paul's birthday and all the possibilities of winter break. He knew that Mateo was going home with his family, and Paul himself would be expected to go back to Avonlea. He was pretty sure Anne was, too. Miss Lavendar and Paul's father were home from their travels, and they'd all be together once again. But maybe he could take a train down to see a certain boy partway through break, or maybe they could each get their parents to drive them halfway…

He realised during his daydreams of Christmas that he would have to figure out what to give his boyfriend. He suddenly understood why everyone in books and movies freaked out about it. He and Mateo would have been dating for less than three months. What was the appropriate intimacy level for such a gift?!

He decided to ask Gracie for advice. She'd been dating her boyfriend for a little bit longer than he had been dating Mateo and would probably know what to do. Failing that, he might be able to ask one of the Patty's Place crew. It wasn't his first choice, though. He had a feeling they might coo over him, and he didn't want that. So he texted Gracie to set up a time to go shopping. It was especially convenient that Gracie's older sister was coming to visit that weekend and could drive them. Paul hated being dependent on other people to drive him around. He couldn't wait to be able to drive his own car, though driving seemed pretty scary.

He waited for Gracie in the front parking lot. The fountain was switched off for the winter. No birds hopped around looking for seeds and no squirrels raced up the tree. Paul spent a moment imagining the squirrels tucked up all cozy in their little nests, burying their noses in the other squirrels' tails. He pulled his scarf up around his mouth. New England winters were no joke.

"Hey, Paul!" Gracie said, bounding toward him. In her big pink coat she was the brightest thing around for miles. Paul smiled and hugged her when she came close enough.

"Hey!"

"I'm excited to do that assignment for Miss Adams," Gracie said, rubbing her hands together. She got her phone out.

"Me too. What are you going to write about?"

"My sister's almost here," Gracie declared, putting her phone back in her pocket. "I think I want to do a story set in space."

"Always a good choice," Paul said. "Astronauts? Aliens?"

"Maybe a romance between the moon and a star," Gracie said. She waved as a blue car made its way down the long driveway.

"I like that! Is it a forbidden romance? How do they bridge the gap between them?"

"I don't know!" Gracie said. She pulled open the car door. "I just know that they're lesbians. Hey, Monica!"

"Hey, Gracie, hi, Paul," Monica said, leaning over the gearshift to kiss her sister's cheek. "What's this about lesbians?"

"Hello," Paul said, getting into the back seat.

"My story for English."

"Are they kind of like people?" Paul asked. "Like the cowherd and the weaver girl?" They had just wrapped up a unit on folklore in their English class, and the ones about forbidden romance had really captured Paul's imagination (and heart).

"Oooh, that's a good idea. How do they cross the distance to each other? Maybe they could each catch a ride on a spaceship…"

Paul laughed. "They only have 24 hours once a year, but with the help of the spaceships, they make it across the vast distance separating them just in time!"

"The moon rides a space unicorn, though, I think."

"How big is a space unicorn? And what do they eat?"

"Oh, they eat asteroids for sure. It's like popcorn just flying at their mouths all the time. So I guess they're the size of, like…" Gracie squinched her eyes shut as she tried to think of a suitably large comparison. "They're as tall as a skyscraper and really long."

Paul laughed in delight. "So the moon is pretty big as a person then."

"Yeah, but that's like nothing compared to how big the _physical_ moon is." Gracie tapped one finger on her lips. "I'll have to figure something out. Maybe the space unicorn is way bigger and asteroids are just like krill to a whale-they don't notice individual pieces…"

By the time they arrived at the nearest little cluster of shops, Gracie and Paul had hammered out most of the story. The moon had always been the moon, but the star was only recently a star, formerly a swan who wanted nothing more than to see the moon in person. She flew farther and farther into the sky until she became a star, and then she hurtled through space until she met the moon. The rest is, as they say, history.

The town they'd stopped in was small but had a good selection of cutesy shops catering to tourists. Paul and Gracie decided to start by walking through the Christmas market, held inside the town hall. It was small but cozy, scented with spiced apple cider and hot chocolate. Monica bought them each a cider and a cookie to munch as they wandered.

"The first thing to decide," said Gracie, stopping to stroke an alpaca-wool scarf, "is how much money you want to spend."

Paul thought about that. He didn't have a job, but his dad had been sending him birthday money for the past few years, and Paul didn't spend his money on just anything. He could spare $50 to buy Mateo something really really nice.

"The second thing," Gracie continued through a mouthful of cookie, "is the hard part. What do you think he would like? Don't worry about if it's too intimate yet." She must have seen the deer-in-the-headlights look on Paul's face, because she added, "He's _your_ boyfriend, not mine."

"Okay. He plays soccer, loves acting, plays video games…" Paul looked around the room. "I'm not sure anything here would fit."

"Let's keep looking just in case. Look, this is so cool!" Gracie pointed to a hand-carved wooden puzzle of interlocking cubes.

"Maybe he'd like something like that," Paul said, picking one up and turning it over.

"Don't buy something until you're sure." Gracie picked up a pair of wood-framed glasses. "Would I look cute in these?" She raised them to her eyes and saw the price tag. "Yikes! Never mind!"

"You would look cute in them," Paul informed her.

"Thanks. That's so helpful now that I can't get them."

They kept moving through the market, stopping at each stall. Most of them were knitted goods or jewelry, though there were a few other types of stall as well. Paul kept Mateo in mind at each one: his luminance, his passions, special moments in their relationship. He kept coming back to that phrase, "if you were not an amber week," from the poem he'd read to Mateo in the car. He'd like to do something to memorialize that. And that was when they came across the journal booth.

A young person in a slouchy hat had established themself at a table covered with journals in a variety of colors and bindings. They had tools in hand and were carving something into the front of one of the journals. "Hi, how can I help you?" they asked, looking up at Paul and Gracie. Paul could only stand there, looking agape at the journals. They were exactly the sort of thing he would buy a thousand, a million, a billion of if he had the money.

Gracie had to say, "Hi! Can you tell us about your work?"

"Of course!" The artist dusted off their hands and pointed to various journals as they talked about different styles and the process of making journals. "I do custom designs as well. If you order now it will be done by Christmas."

Gracie looked at Paul, who was open-mouthed and stroking the cover of a deep green journal. "I think it's safe to say he'll be ordering one. Paul? Paul? What do you want on your journal?"

Paul jumped. "Oh, uh, can I get this one?" He held up the green journal. "I heard something about custom designs?"

Gracie and the artist laughed. "Yes, I do custom orders. What would you like?"

"'If you were not an amber week,'" Paul quoted. "Pablo Neruda-but you don't have to say that on the cover, Mateo knows who it's by." He and the artist negotiated a price before he pulled out his wallet, fat with fresh $20s from an ATM, and bought the journal. The artist told him that the journal should be ready in a couple weeks and that they could mail it to Paul. Paul thanked them profusely before heading to the next stall with Gracie.

"I guess that's the only thing I'll be getting Mateo," he sighed. "Worth it, though."

"You could get him something else small if you want. Like socks or chocolate." Gracie stopped to look at jewelry made out of vintage cutlery.

"What are you getting Jason?" Paul asked.

"Me and his brother are going halfsies on a digital tablet, you know, like for art? He's wanted one forever."

"That's cool! I didn't know he was an artist."

"He's _so_ good, oh my god. He painted a portrait of me the other day and I looked like a princess."

"You always look like a princess," Paul said loyally.

"Oh, stop it," Gracie said, grinning. She linked his arm with hers. "Come on, let's go before you spend any more money."


End file.
